“We have too much to gain from the gods, and this is why they fail to love us…” – John Burnside
We once found a word we've now forgotten,
explaining a concept that drifted away
& left us,
in the same way
We were dreaming
about perfect expressions of language,
about harmony between anguish
for what can never be achieved:
a gift from the gods that may or may not
of significance & meaning.
A meaning made
like a statue of clay
we leave out in the rain:
a gesture of defiance
we know in advance
will not last,
doing it anyway.
Whether any god exists is
because they can't:
perfect language does not exist.