Whole Words

(For Rebecca)

Another mute bites down, a new mutation
Roots out its own tongue. We blank such losses
As `friendly fire'. The language we shared round
With such imperial fairness, keeping only
What was ours, can't not be ours. But now it can't be ours.

We asked to be a voice, even a footnote
To February, a true note. That we drowned
In our own throats perhaps should not amaze us,
...