.
I

With the gums gone briny and brittle,
are gone. And though the nose knows nothing,
the eye begets yr frashion-sensible mouth.

And now the children voices
of the radiator, radiate thru the floor,
is bad, the even row of it
fit to raise
the terrible noise of children.

You will count the faucet's drips
You will stay in the midst of them
You will know the multiplicitous nature of drops, you will hear them
in the narrow canal of yr ears.

II

In my endlessness,
Snow, bricks, arias, roadways, trees, salt
He lost his bird.

The color white. He walks
over a dead cat, some lice carpet made
of mice hairs and salt.

Without eyes or thumbs
He suffers nothing
But the quiver.

In the opening of the endlessness
How to stuff a wound
His feet left.

Snow, clear cold days, salt, brine, short voices
in the town of whispered endlessness.

III

Blue-rooted heron, blue-softened lake,
blue-hardened dirt, blue-lofted song, like no traveler
taking candidates for my love, rest, loose-winged water-bird
And dumb music with a taste of water.

I stand upon the waterfront, like him no traveler,
sweeping off the skin, dangling on the wings,
Aching for flight, for blue skies, that song,
I handle and take my rest.

They will not hunt us for our voice, my pretty,
The flesh of the thigh is soft, is scared, and is dumb.
The sound of an arrow, the sight of a hunter
a sorrowful life without wings.

So let us die for death alone is motion
And death alone will make those herons fly.
My armless, wingless, crackling ocean
forgive the notions of my sisters, and die.  ¶ 11:33 AM