you are

the fish who drank up the whole sea

and

the sex made out of paper

pretend the snake
decending from the branches
is a sap filled with white or grey or black letters
like type floating in oil
and you are sitting in a frame
a pretty picture
with a pebble in your hand
looking at a finger
pointing at the moon

but today's broadcast is a
sufi in his meditation
becoming a koranic vessal
filled with words

a tree like an antenna
springs up on the edge
of a nowhere
sprouting from his head

you were moving in your day
all the hours were filled with
a recording of the Viet Nam War
pronounced across your childhood
with violins and trumpets playing
the music of a corner
torn off from a page of doubts
and folded into a puppet
of belief