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,