My earth which is mine will always make more of itself

    ^{The New Jerusalem will be no consolation for the one we lost. 
    —Etel Adnan}

     I float to the end of paradise. 

     Wail, huile, seaside afterlife.

     Even silence says Palestine.

             Paradise is no consolation

             for the one we lost.

     Find me a breeze to carry a name. 

     A bus ticket to cruise a free coast 
                                                                   through sky center cerulean. 

             Long bereave lady fortune on whose dime none survived. 

             Leaf by leaf, alive. Carriage for the hallowed sky. Upright in song.

     No tree of mine but earth. 

     No mind for none but movement.

            Rush to arrive at the end of longing where meets us all 

            remembrance. Shake down this future from my limb.

                                                I carry finite harvest.

                                                For you who weave me.

                                                I seed and seed.