A Pantoum For A Poet’s New Voice

I have nothing left to say.
What does a dry well do in dead heat?
Reverberates the sound, I suppose –
Of what clawing animal, I do not know.

What does a dry well do in dead heat?
Gathers the stifle, hoards the wet memory
Of what clawing animal, I do not know.
The air pressed at the stone rim pleads for a song.

Gathers the stifle, hoards the wet memory
Reverberates the sound, I suppose –
The air pressed at the stone rim pleads for a song.
I have nothing left to say.

(2020)