I walk slowly through the open-air exhibition
of the aging dead  

like I am running
to catch up

with the dead   who cannot be counted  
but only ever rounded
into zeroes

sharpened
on the edge of The
sing-along reflection

The soothing lights  
The soundlessness that accompanies

beverage machines in
ground zero


Mask-like faces in the trees
mirrors   like


the christening of a river
lumped with skin.

I wonder how far
the waters go