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Formally, I and the undersigned— What? Use, like Mama said, your imagination if you still have one where scripts still sway like spring- hipped hula girls on Ford dashboards, where cursive still wraps its tail around your right hand like a pet corn snake, where syntax still stutters, lurches into a sin, a sandwich, a pleasured refrain; if that much of you remains, you’ll see them, us, me (lonely as a broken doorknob), the possible contours of silent manifestos—do hereby request you speak for us only if you speak for us We realise there is that which we do not see We realise there is that which you do not see We realise knowledge is fragile as mucous membrane, but we don’t want much Only not to be taken,   only for hope everywhere— wildflowers, voice, water   We will pay—have paid— with ocean bodies, river minds   Let us watch the water rise, smash stone