if wind had a face
it would return gold coins

to the tongues of the dead �
its slender sibling would shift

the shore's fine reeds
into a dancing skirt

for my littlest sister
who raises her cup

to the full moon milking
a river of cows �

wade the river and lift
a silk hem, feel tadpoles

guiding the backs
of our knees


�2005 by PJ Nights