say for the sayer, you plead of me,
say for the sayer as I've taught you.
(as if the kaddish will never stop, not
until he blocks up his ears and
catches his breath . . .)
your do nots become cannot be,
in the way of disbelieving mothers
in the nightmares they've handed down to us
still saying, do not disappoint us son
we've seen enough too much no more
not mine please God not mine no more,
while heads shake no in unison;
it cannot be it cannot be it cannot be
. . . while watching at decade's end's end.
where go your walking distances to
where it is the luck of the sayer to say; to
where it is the luck of the answerer to answer; to
where it is the luck of the listener to listen, but
now unable to say or to listen or to answer, only
to watch while we turn away and then turn back,
away-then-back away-then-back away-then-back
your body swaying back and forth,
your ears stopped up at decade's end,
it cannot be it cannot be it cannot be
from floor to chair and back
I trace your steps
gone
the full debator's length
the stretch a network
of regret; my life,
which has to do with
once
spoken voices
