Poem: What Can I Say?

What Can I Say?

There is what has been said,
and what has not been said,
but is that all?  Of course,
there is what will
or what might 
or can be said,
and what cannot be,
will never be, has never been,
or was once possible to say,
but now, that is no longer
within the capacity of language,
but I do not mean
in those ways,
not the thought
of what is or is not
to be said or can be
or cannot be,
but some other direction
that is not named,
some other potentials
within how words mean,
a direction of their use
that reflects
what they cannot themselves
hold directly,
because it is said
thought comes after,
conscious thought
as we consider it,
resting in the words,
what is that limit?
What is the way
to move this thing
which becomes the place
where the self must stand
so it may be higher
and see farther,
by just the use,
by unconstraining
something unnoticed
or by adding dimensions
to what is possible
within meaning?
It does not seem
that is the course,
is still too operate
at the same altitude,
though perhaps expanding
at the platforms edges,
is not at all it...
There are not words,
it is not a thing
the language holds,
not yet, but
it is waiting,
in the places
where the self 
is not welcomed,
where words fail
so I cannot enter,
so "I" cannot enter,
because "I" is a word,
nothing of it can touch this yet,
nothing of language
has reached it for me.