Off in the night, you can hear ‚em bright / The Sirens of the Sea / Oh and city birds and alley girls, they all just sing for free / Oh they all just sing for free (Gregory Alan Isakov)

But the drumhead rolled by name: / How you sound is / Who you are / Like drumsound / Backing back to root / Roosting at the meeting place / The time that has always been here (Avishai Cohen, poem Keorapetse Kgositsile)

Every true poem is a spark, / And aspires to the condition of the original fire / Arising out of emptiness. / It is that same emptiness it wants to reignite / It is that same engendering it wants to be re-engendered by. / Shooting stars. / April’s identical, / Celestial, wordless, burning down. / […]