Long(ing)

in hopes that this reaches Patti Smith

at sunset the dead speak
casting a language
of eye and rust
sea and fire.

the dead speak to us
as we whirl about
anxious as marbles
through tambourine leaves
and whispering traffic.

they know about heights
and how they are among
earth’s most unforgiving things.

how blessed we are to have
been planted firmly
as mountains.
they say

between us
is only time.
all measurement
is of time.

every sky is a word.
many words.
one of Earth’s many
dead languages.

One Way To Listen

Tishon