A dog whose bark mimics a beeper implies nothing
to another dog whose voice moves like a fax machine.
Stripped in plain sight, the forest whispers
in endless stanzas; from cantos to quartos,
enjambment to caesura.
The bushes skirt the garage; eager to hide
the ground’s dirty secrets
of morning, after the night sky forgot its size
trying to write away its sadness.
But definitely the still air will re-plant seedlings
right where they fell; and summer sweat
will coat notebook pages splayed open like
someone couldn’t find the poem they wanted,
the blue wearing thin the white, making the words
less likely to be understood, rather seen through.
Anywhere else, laughter echoes from mouths unseen:
playground children experimenting with momentum
and gravity; a man tired of talking to himself; a woman
looking for silence.
Why do we say things that can break glass?
Why didn’t we just open the window first?
Outside, those who heard nothing went on living.
What did we see that we wanted to tell them?