Children pile up rocks in the stream

& the pleasure of watching ripples divide only


to summon strength  to reform a broken color

bones still soft  hair slickly parted


what they do

a whole language



the way wind strips away chatter & chaff.


These little mounds also collapse

& rebuild— silt  gravel  vast uncollected stuff


a cycle of nouns 1 billion of them listen

even without agency a noise as they slump


dragged into the streambed  embedded

one child with wispy hair insisting


on pyramids

scrapes & sludge on her knees


indifferently marred while afternoon too collapses

crepuscular  a train passing by piercing holes in the blue


but what is un-solid cannot be   broken down.

Do you know something about human footprints


tracker of time warps who once nosed a creek

unlikely in dimension after rain


who fish-hooked into shallows with a strand of hair & bent pin

watching it wrap around a twig.  A paper nest, a glass pipette.


When you returned   with sunlight’s proof

such delicate emptiness.