i.

look the fires have quit and the engines
work. we collapse when it squeals,

no chance to regroup, our intelligence
soft, sulfur, and lifts from its place, and we can

not pry ourselves from the discarded carpet,
can not straighten up, unsteady.

     ii.

the change is like a cough that unfolds into silence.
if a crowd of eavesdroppers could

cure just by listening, then a border would
bend and sway two miles at a time.

all of us can see the bridge, the fog is rising off the bay,
but we can still see the pilings and wire stretch across.

               later, our bodies breach the water.

if we had purpose, we would be here in the dawn scraping
what we can from this moment.