Let the rhyming, dying dream
carve a tunnel in your trachea
for breath then name
Let the name be lush
Let the name be rangy
roaming past time
to the source of language : a huddle of clean ash —
the only
promise time makes
is to be ongoing
an inconclusive light that cannot dim
forming
pink organs and petals
green fuses and rot
the metastasizing muscle
the prison, the cell, the organelle
the eight dollar cup of
coffee the animal with no teeth in the hungry street
the person with no love left in the desiccated
valley the quake the rubble the flood
the bone-dense shadows
the traps sprung on
sinew in inconclusive light
god a fermata
descend the broken air
note, name the air’s new tunnels
paved with snapped beaks
and the silence of the new he