Dying Noises

If in some languages

killing is change and water is time then

today is eventfully always if only

for the dying noises of bar talk and whistles

of melting snow underneath us (and i

never knew a pisces girl before) but

mentioning none of those things i said

now it’s 2, then tomorrow it’s hullo,

hullo twinkling in your sorry neck, hullo again

allowing for for an unchanging thought

nearly aloud about which language can survive here the longest