So, the day will become a small boat

we know we’ll have to bail. No matter
& never mind what’s left or left

to say. There’s water & there’s wind
to cut it off, carry it off

& any way. &, So, when even the birds—.
When every road—.

When the hour
lengthened by waiting becomes

space, a room of nothing much happens
swells & then the wave—. Back

& back again we turn: the time, each once
-dear phrase, every shift of light.

& when becomes—& what
we don’t get to choose—

come morning when morning
fills up with synonyms

for rain & that
touching & what troubles.