when he was an age he didn’t know

in an age that cannot be known

there was a vow

to the yellow bowl

the one that cannot wash by gold

gold was a shadow on water

water where the yellow bowl

water where the yellow bowl

he saw a shadow on the water

the non-gendered he

saw a shadow on the water

there was the yellow bowl

he was old then

older than he could ever know

on the horizon where the mountains peak

old lightning flash didn’t know of the old

flash of lightning it was

didn’t know of its age or

what it was

until its light went in all direction

dropping the strike

old drop-the-strike of the mountains
behind the mountains

still didn’t know of the old

old its

white long strike

all over the water

a shadow and he knew

what fills a yellow bowl is gold

and he knew it was not

yet he was old before the bowl

at the foot of the mountain

the mountain didn’t know of the old

of the shadow

now he was shaking

his body shaking

and he knew he didn’t see the bowl

he saw only a bowl

with the color and shape of the yellow

was knowledge of his age

an eclipse-yellow

yellow in his heart lived

yellow in the water lived

what it is to learn here

of the learned here


his body and death

no one had told us where to dance

age cannot be determined

no one is the voice which does not remember to speak

about the dance

like a rumor

origins are stories

with people walking around the perimeter

people are the dead

where the dance a rumor

the mountain said it would dance

but for the mountain

there was no known instruction on

what a dance is

it was not of the custom of a mountain

to dance

it would transgress the children of death

our lives

wear their bodies’ commonality

they are dead without ghosts that do not dance up the mountain

they do not have voices for

speaking from memory’s dance

up the mountain

but the mountain

is without information on what

a dance is

bodies of people

sons and daughters of death

wear the unspeakable memories

the mountain would dance there

as it would in custom

if it were its custom

and where the trees originated from

the babies are shadows of a rumor

they are un-formed

by the cycles of rhythm

a sound before a sound

is a custom

and all the dead of the country

sons and daughters of the dead

who are human

and are of rhythm

who are of rhythm

as is the custom

we follow the motives

for food and sleep

we will go with the body to

a dead-made mountain


without an identified

rumor in the sky


the lightning wants to retain its strike

near the mountain

of all born

two armed two legged

follow the motives

to his houses

but his death cannot pass

nothing trespasses the yellow bowl


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