I Talk to Another More Than Myself
Jennifer Kronovet

The same words: anathema,

bibliographic, mark


our language as fallen.

Stencils of trees to decorate trees.


At the museum, you are impressed

by ancient bronze. Metal ribs


of another. I wield a dull knife

to my way of seeing:


the thoughts, not muscles,

feel the threat. The word-hinges—


like tools of unknown origin—

exposed under the more modern way


to light the artifacts. My use of

you could distill us, make room


for another experiment in materials.