There was imagination
       though not yet imagined
       A wish was a spell of wickedness
       Something dark

       Language was an embryo unfurling
       inside of hot caves
       A spore of guttural seeds
       spit into syllables
       The white glue of saliva
       held them together

       Slowly language spoke
       Regret is not clear it is dark

       She asked: Is there regret in a dark thought?

       To drift is to know
       the absolute meaning of loneliness

Dah’s fourth book is The Translator (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015). Dah’s poetry has been published by editors from the U.S., the U.K., Ireland, Canada, China, Philippines, Spain and India, appearing in Lost Coast Review, the Cape Rock, A New Ulster, Sandy River Review, Black Market Re-View, the Linnet’s Wings, and the Canon’s Mouth. Dah lives in Berkeley, California where he is working on the manuscripts for his fifth and sixth books.
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