Lyrics

Say they still                                                                 tie ropes to the caskets                                                                 of immigrants they find                                                                 in the desert. That a rope                                                                 saves time should                                                                 someone come looking. Say it was a man. It was. There is a boy mowing the cemetery lawn. He is perfect at cutting close. Go in. How will I know when it's close? The ground unpacked above his box remade the box above the ground. Sit down. Say he sat down. Where? It matters that they sat so close. How many? Fourteen. Make room. The mower stops to move a vase. The sweetest dream that labor knows. His space marked at the gate — UNKNOWN MALE. What could he do in the van without space? Say he was sleeping. Did he dream? Yes. And after the crash? Died in the dream. Inside. Or woke in the sand. The brush. The ground was his dream. Legs pulled up in a van dream of ground. Under now. Wake up, the mower says. He has stopped where I lie. His face. You have aged, I say. Wake up. I am looking up. Will you still age? His face is changed.