At a loss for words

I waited for a word to
float down to me
on the dust and the wind
of the purple mountain distant.
I waited with peeled red eyes
for a sign of the word I had lost
in the depths of the sullen water.
My breath dried on my lips.
Now I look at the page before me
and the words curve and curl.
Undulating their bodies
like a beguiling whore.
My fingers, they are singed
and I can write no more.