The Thing I Want to Talk About but Can’t

The thing I want to talk about but can't

will nonetheless impress on me to try –
it’s not exactly that it doesn't grant
me access to itself, or train my eye

to lead the rest of me to what it wants;
it does, but once I'm there it’s like I'm stuck
awaiting some new pitch: the batter bunts
before I've seen the ball: alas, no luck

in catching it: I wander off again –
in hope that I can play another game
where I'll discover how or where or when
I might find my loved thing a proper name.

I pray one day I'll get it to respond –
instead of flitting, slipping just beyond.





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