In the cars and streets
and in the houses
and businesses
I have not found
my teacher
I think
I have not been looking
softly enough
I print my questions
on cards and stop
to bind and rebind them with string
the heavens of birdsongs
the blue and red constellations
what bees know
the yellow
daffodil
its leaves
and all the leaves
all the kinds of pitches
and waves
in the universe
the stonemason’s patterns
this bridge
this wind wailing
all the cards fly into the trees
like doves
some fall here and
miles from this place
me trying to gather them
before the ink bleeds