A word enters my vein,
cornflower-blue and cozied up
to tendons.

A detached one is enough.
Slipped through and careless
it careens and dopamines
a single small heavyweight
that burns low then evaporates
among bronchioles.  

Where you came from, you burn also
and turn over in your sleep as if you know
a word was created and travelled,
and the split-long beam
travels ahead in lurid exposure.

I am waiting for another,
a child
beside all the addicts in the world, in
fiendish camaraderie.