the waking 2

the sun
trailing fast
in my noiseless night
the brackish speech of foreign men
rolling through the coming drenching bodies in their bags
our screams echo on the tides of a thousand voices/rain coats our prayers with scant mercy
part of a dream is what we exhume/drop through waterfalls Methuselah's pennies float

we do not need an eclipse to brace our throated air
what saves us from fatal darkness
lies in salty sleep
in the sinks
of men's