Every sound has become a word, by now
sentences, ones that go step by step
and behind each other you hear

what falling water has to say, lets
its crushing wall do the talking
as if every voice begins among rocks

then end over end is carried down
for frozen seas and longing, tells you
it’s OK, dirt will help you forget

calmed by what the dead squeeze out
and the gesture :this stream pushing back
unfolds over your mouth, makes an answer.