Drowned Song
August 31 2026
The seven-
fold, the
animate
echo opens
into hanging
gardens,
the wild
song in its
octave, song
where you
aren’t but
could be
seven-fold,
among the border
grasses and the
transfixed cedar,
meet me,
anywhere but
here, drowned song,
at the sign of
the buried prow
covered in
oracle moss,
at the sign
of the sign of
the arbor
of knots, overgrown
with jasmine, I know
I’ll fail, an arc
of light
coming apart in air,
anywhere but
here,
meet me.
✳