Roman

Audience

Language writhes in the unpeopled forest
a former tree, rotting its inertial story.

Under the desert sun's palm
sentences flourish
whistle-whetted
between unopposable hands.

For whom is a tomb
to save surface bones
from the dust that dust forgets.

Memory, yes, and a present sitter
with brain-filled ears
is stained and glassed and shattered
by light whose confirmation is receipt.