I TOOK THE bait. I want to know where I left it. The aerogram, dispatch, kickback for being born. I remember how it look, not what it says. The Euphrates must dry up before this happens. They say. High-level sources. It's not of this lifetime. Instead, we get left with exorcisms & a block of salt. The throat swells in this climate. It won't be long now. You hear the empty rooms when they die, the four walls slammed closer together. The space between the sheets. Stars come both at night & day as though the titles for them & the sky were never separate. You want what they say where they go. Tracks & buildings were the river stops short. Such things are unknown to the unknowing. Such things are in the river, that paper floating by. These are the very last pages of your murder mystery. Who knows the sky from there.