From the Fishouse

Snow all white but for one bent stalk

One bent nail of a bird call as much sense as the day will offer

One suede pouch for the names of the fallen. Ar ra lan do pan du ra My la Mar a vi llo sa. The syllables mumble in the dark

One voice augers its way through the churning, saying Dear dear clear, saying Heart

So many of us, many of us one by one

And then again an ample table set for all plus one

In the company of grace, Per a lez Ka ro laz Ca si ka Ja ko niuk Pos pi sil I da nan Pe ar row Ka rim Re al li Is ma il San tos

Each one buries all the dead

Dud kie wicz Clay Ikh las