We are a choir


Sing  
no one can hear
I promise

There’s nothing like
your voice in song
in the cold woods
your friend’s ritual
your welcome mouth 
like pink fossils
creased at their edges

Shapes of you talking
in lasting monologues
fill the air
mouths start in the stomach
where a sick feeling has grown

In the trees
a warm wind in winter
an orb following autumn
a trembling voice
a growing song

Sing sickness
back in the stomach
where less may be stored
but more is nourished

We are a choir
saying too much
and singing along.