I ask my soul, “Take care of this, right now!” / But it’s silent. / It acts of its own accord: / An echo gasp, / From stupid-little-mundane things / That cry you out.
"I jump the fence at the park, / following echoes to twist and fall back / down, down, to sink beneath the waves,
the sand, the snow closing over / eyes that don’t see, that aren’t here,"
