174 The Meadow sky burial John Sibley Williams the sea is called / a body & the children / are still dying / so far from here / & here sometimes / bones rearranged into / drowned or dragged off skyward / biopsied or blood- slicked pavement / at night / when the white pines cut against an un- / white sky / history moving its mouth / without speaking / my daughters who are beginning / again to look like other / like bullets exiting / our country’s borrowed language / white / language / rage & hue / what I cannot hold / of them I hold so close the sea / still a body / aches & sings its shame / aches & sings & washes clean all evidence / that to be an echo means once you wailed / once the sea & sky & white white stars / & their bodies / still living inside us—
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy ODQ3NA==