I ask

I ask the words to convey me
but they don't know where to go
and they have no wheels to spin
on water, or air, or clouds
or whatever groundless claims
I make of me, or mine, or all.

I ask the ears to in-form me
to drink me in and shape me
pass me through the
coronet-funnels
narrow me into thread
a spinning winding path
into somewhere else to hide,
and profligate, and pretend to be.

I ask the world to confide in me
to share with me a secret or two
what is the end of enduring,
who can stand understanding,
but mostly, why this feeling is,
when words falter
and no one to hear.