The wrecking and wreckage of words

There were words 

so many in so many ways configured

tapestries and nondescript doormats 

love notes and excuses.

There were words,always

and I never asked who made them

I never asked 

why they never asked permission;

they came, stayed, marked

erased and left.

I didn't ask where or why

and didn't follow  

not into gutter and drain

not into cloud or river.

There were words then

and they camouflaged of silence

shielded solitude.

But now

each word I send reveals

in reading and in the unclothing.

I should freeze in the cold sun

of exposures unfamiliar.

It's warm

in the un-wording

and the irrelevancing of text.