we live in a world of seconds
which is why trees are a mystery
and the night lasts so little
on the underside of grass

sometimes I miss old friends
who breathe other languages
and about whom the world speaks
in the hot evaporation of rain

I watch white birds cross
the surface of puddled water
but they're small clouds
drifting slowly with the wind

we move quicker than our hearts
cold as sea bottoms to an edge unfamiliar
below our voices echo like whales in the dark