Conversations at the dinner table

A low humming
harmonica fills the air
in this late summer

morning, rises over a distant

mountain, a stone house

where I left a poem.

Again, I will recite the soliloquies
of Shakespeare, as if I Miranda,
Juliet, Ophelia,
could change the world.

Truth is an echo in the middle
of the sea, corpses floating

like pieces of old wood.

Time is one long day
that ends with a murmuring sigh.

Everyone's still asleep.

A new act begins.
Something has gone wrong.

Repeat -- I believe what I'm saying --
repeat
repeat.