Speech’s surf
is wavy,
water’s rift
moodshopping
a Babel
more oblong
than unintelligible.
The rain
before
the sun
and the darkness
before
the moon.
Looking
for any,
only finding
some,
this train is
made of colorless swathes and swatches,
deaf each passenger’s
stammerings and—
great gout of self and loneliness—
alive, alive.