calendar of murmurs
vague caresses about the planet and its water
we could have confused words
but there were doors open
confetti in the midst of darkness
gentle ways
to swoon in a corner with she who
put her tongue in my mouth
-Nicole Brossard
a line of gaping homes with nothing
full of souls and sound and space and spit
a million memories withholding
the remainders of a modern pit
