I saw a child playing
in letters
F O O D he gurgles
holding hands on lincoln pl
his father sighs the language
back into the cafe
F o o D

I play in letters too
‘how are you’ may
be ‘wyd love’
may ‘where are you?’
when I shouldn’t wanna hear.
in the cafe I wait
on your silence

I have been reading augustine
he himself “a great sinner
for so small a boy”:
in his nascent wonder of
un-Godded words, sin.
:find a grammar
for the Father in the crowd.

what a great sinner,
at how great an age.
how might he find me
next to this child, ripping
paper from stand: ‘onety
S I X: six’. how might
He find me

sounding out ‘WHERE
ARE YOU’ in quiet
breath. you are in
the corner and I hope
you don’t hear. You
are in the corner
and I hope you ripen.