what would it sound like
to walk out on the sound

gulls chase
gulls for a bit

that sound
breathing
needles

so I hope for green
through the still black
door to see color to
burst into bloom into
color burst and burst

what thoughts I would have liked
putting them on a shelf or

but what would it sound like
opening my mouth the way

the white heron hides its neck
am I too late

do I keep
taking notes on sheets of ice

who birthed
a stone
shining
through cries
broken
picked it
up kiss
kiss put
it down
this white
page still
hates me
no that’s
silly
after
all the
great sea
flashes
stop that
the night
humid
for what
was his
name John
didn’t
he have
a big
something
car and
maybe
I’m wrong
headed
eyebrows
foreheads
who walk
by my
window
why do
they breathe
so close
to me
so pick
up the
white page
try to
forget
the names
swarming
the heat

In the morning you can reach out and see on the breeze in the mind the damp stone tightening straps keep him in place the pain in his cell the confession conversion meaningless at this point or the life by the sea rough stone grey the children I pushed through and lined up in the earth and the cliffs so beautiful lonely one time one town on the frontier barely built I can still smell new cut wood that simple home sun creeping through seams in the wall another sunny place warm weather sweet breeze always fetching writing down his many thoughts the wine was good