After I learned it,
my favorite word
for most of the spring
was susurrus,
like I’d found the name
for the floor of things,
the low buzzing noise
of whispers, the first layer
of reality as it’s built on the void.

But now my new favorite word
is velleity, offering that
“slightest of desires” to stir
the shimmering surface
of perfect neutrality.
From it arise the great loves,
the hungers for territory,
the amusements, the skyscrapers—
but why, it says to all of them
in its simplest, most delicate way,
why disturb this lovely pool,
this pleasant murmuring of things at peace
before we need anything,
even a single word.