full of dark ancestral

wires— a whole bouquet of wires

we huddle around each other

we sit like ducks

in a row and read, read, read

ourselves rid ourselves

overnight the question of faith

flopped in my dream, moved

in and out of the mist

of language traveling at what speed

does it turn into song

where are we

returning to? this war, this war

parents aging under rocket fire

work dissipates and so does our world

every moment a curse

it stays in my mouth like cellophane

i bless and can’t taste the blessing

sitting on the thinnest ice

we might as well sing something, last night

cicadas were singing along with the music we came out to hear

i’m still hearing it and the wine

still sloshing in my head what’s left

is sweet and our joint

crumped hope a paper cloud

is dipping and shimmering

loves music and makes it