1.
Nothing says itself back.
The mirror is bottomless,
even the big tree outside
is silent. I dreamt
nibbling the leaf, dreamt
old satchels stuffed for departure.
Where are my socks
when there is nowhere to go?
2.
We kept getting closer and closer
to saying something but we couldn’t
make it come. Silent as skin,
as closets at midnight,
ceiling staring at me when I woke.
3.
Listening is dangerous,
we were brave though,
thoughtless brave, and kept
trying to hear. Dangerous
since no one knows what
word will come, or where
on earth it’s coming from.
We waited and listened
and heard each other’s breath.
Maybe that is articulate enough,
dangerous enough and we woke.
4.
Came back to weather.
The listening game is over
(they call it sleep)
and now the speaking starts,
everybody talking all at once,
all hearing and no listening
like sunshine on a quiet lawn.
Where are the birds today?
They used to help me make
sense of what I did and didn’t hear.
5.
I could get religion,
worrying like this.
But the sky is blue,
not a cloud in it.
It is so hard sometimes
to escape from dreams—
that’s what the day is for,
for us pilgrims from the dark.
5 July 2020
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