Walking Blues

i lug my silence into a blue forest its lost cloud

loud with jays jeering at my blue hat

what makes it so high and lonesome on the map

baptised from below in the water table

enabling the spirit to speak in broken oak—

no hoax this glossolalia a cross-worded puzzle

muzzling all green thoughts leaf by leaf

grief needs no bait to bite no hook to hold

old as the reflection in a phone’s black glass

amassing unknown calls vibrating on silent