words elope
perhaps all alone
in nights sweet
and nights black

I am a child
fumbling my hands
on the faces of land
and the world topples
bounces about

this trembling scrawl
tentative almost
as the rickshaw
coughs and shakes

I don't say when I say
I am in love with words
sometimes the dance
sometimes song
sometimes the people
they carry along

I don't say— I don't say
I watch away
it is the child that writes