soon my fingers say
crickets sing
the river laughs
death dances
words like a weariness
dark and threadbare
untangle
and slip out of my coat
on to my hands
a boy with long baggy pants
no shoes no shirt
half eaten left hand, with
extraordinary casualness
asks, when will the roaring come back
i scratched the air
a gesture of respect
or total ignorance
his question
leaves me empty
soon my fingers say
