Party Till Almost Sunrise

I will find
the poetry

in a sound lantern.
It’s not hard to do.

Back then, he did, indeed,
have those long, hollow cheeks.

A candle flickered in his mouth
when he sang.

I never had a match
for him. They spilled

from my pockets
for years after the last time

we. Then no more.

I never lived
in a lighthouse with

anyone, no matter how hard I tried
to will it. All those empties

rolling off the bluff
into the sound. And

another. So many
kinds to choose from.

The last word
no one dares pick.

Nor the means:
spoken, sung, whispered, signed,

or transmitted inside
a moving billow of water.

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