find a shore
of an ancient stream
extinct roar
fossilized echoes resound
I want you to consider
the echo of
the moon in monsoon

cross the car window, the crackling of glass
upon asphalt explodes and you sleep like a baby
crossing the puddle I look at myself from below wondering if I can catch
a smile or some moon launch that really touched down,
you riding shotgun just a babe in a cloud

if you listen to voices that drift on the wind, you will hear them scream
drifting styrofoam puffs skitter across this high noon road
the moaning sound is a fox, “The wild is loose in our neighbourhood.”
a man driving by stops just long enough to tell me.