we’re dreaming of the shore again, how the sea swallowed the sun. we 

then see the next day, light risen from mottled grave, and there: discordant cant- 

  

ata, choir choking on the syllables. stolen limbs mean you eat 

what you’re given. the conductor trades their wrists for money, 

  

each bill sharp as molten sand, and when the choir eats, they choke harder. we 

watch the light shift across sky, how the clouds’ jagged thorns pierce through, and can’t 

  

recall how it was like before. a whale beached itself at our feet but wouldn’t drink 

when we held out water in cupped palms. against drowning sun, its skin looked like oil.