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to József Seres

huge leaden sheets
cover the heavens
and descend
with a grinding roar
what are we waiting for
they butt our skulls
we bow we stoop
but the monstrous skies press down
on the metal roof
we spite the darkness
curse the minutes
until we're level with the earth
never equal
our words get mired
hair spreading
into the bog
we wobble molding
imperfect truth
neurotic sailors
pull ropes from our brains
before we anchor
docking in nothing
we toss our pen into the water
squat on a reef
that no one disturb us
in our nothing-doing
staring down the sea
we dare it to blink
ears welling with music
the ruckus of the spheres
how much longer
can word-islands take it
in their solitude
without longing after distances
all noise is Babel
sirens fall
piece-meal into the waves
as the Sun grins on

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