For Misk Mohammed Khalil Gouda, Age 0
The rain delicate over the eaves, On broad leaves of fireweed & nettle. Like a child Tiptoeing the dawn hallway, Columnar light balustrading Floorboards. Clouds build up Come late afternoon, roiling bulbous Blooms balanced along the ridge. The glacier melts, river rises, Footprints & shabby, hurried tipis Of driftwood borne along. They Are our dailiness– the things we cannot change, Misk. We are embedded in them, Of them, grasping past to feign An agency we cannot possess. Our Eurydice worlds. We march meanwhile To songs we’ve tooled into allegiances. Looking b ack, the worlds slip from us & into t he light we spill, all battlefield & Barbarism. All life is forfeit. I Am ashamed, Misk. I sing your name Into the maw of brutalities & let its tender syllable resound.