mayday poem 3

here, seasons are weathered into one day

what is cloud is fog is cloud

and can clog the light

but light is what we count of day

and day is time that is fall and also springs

mayday poem 2

i'm listening to what you are saying, can't you hear me?

but, i read your hands before i hear any words

sometimes, your hands move so slowly

so i might begin to speak with your eyes

i think that when i near your mouth i begin to hear it speaking sounds

strange to think that we depend on sounds which come from so cavernous a place in the body

causing us to distrust our eyes and hands which are ever in our sight

mayday poem 1

a voice wails outside an oral culture

when the second syllable came to my ear, i had already forgotten my name

as eyes stitch together the forgettings

words are called into naming --

for a short life