Pinioned to the start,
arms from ears
folded across my forehead,
I listen to the telephones of insane ministers
quacking and barking
and run to the voiceless part.

Eggshell lids open
on the rum of my eyes.
Tree branches cascade and cross
up through the blue afternoon.
Ceremonies left behind
fade under the water.

When I thought I had strength to give,
I needed succor.
Now I unfold my memories
all over the pock-marked earth.

And the river of my death
pokes my heel through
the curb of a cracked sidewalk
into the rain forest heart.