Dust Moves Names

Just as when you, in seeing the wheel, begin to roll,
the sky, in producing clouds, begins to speak.
The words have water faster than any name,
and all their sounds become girls, or slips in force.

Anyone who was a way of being more in evidence
would later find their bones comprised of news.
Strangers live in my hand. Rearranging my name
like those furtive constellations of small, irascible fishes.