Spelling

By Peter Layton

we'll
stand in the rain
our voices whistling back and forth
an attractive thin reed young woman
and me

me
an odd collection of metamorphoses
chemical physical processes
whirring through veins
a ghost

I may hear your voice
continuing to hum
with sounds of cicadas
eating trees
the melting down of slag cars

the inch movement of
earth
crust
mantle
continents