So, the day will become a small boat
we know we’ll have to bail. No matter
& never mind what’s left or left
to say. There’s water & there’s wind
to cut it off, carry it off
& any way. &, So, when even the birds—.
When every road—.
When the hour
lengthened by waiting becomes
space, a room of nothing much happens
swells & then the wave—. Back
& back again we turn: the time, each once
-dear phrase, every shift of light.
& when becomes—& what
we don’t get to choose—
come morning when morning
fills up with synonyms
for rain & that
touching & what troubles.