Who are you? I am the ancient part
of your life. Hence the youngest.
But you appear to be dead?
That is in your eye, like breathing
through a pinched nostril. The immense
sunlight congratulates but you don't
even know it, peering through a fence slat.
Where are you? I live with all you look
away from, all you've forgotten.
I feed on that black milk. I speak
through the holes in your listening,
the vowels that haven't been invented yet.
But they wake in your throat.
Some day you will sing through them
all the way to your face. On that day,
the sun will burn your tongue.