the wind
tower
could be
a pack
of lies
on stilts
or else
a call to
prayer
language
disembodied
via
radiator
pipes
between
storeys
as voices
tangle
in the
breeze
directives
are
disobeyed
but
something
holds it up
still it
leans
between us
on ladders
where we
built it in
the silt
of the
buried river
flooding
the foundations
again
and
again songs
ooze underground