In a milk white mist in the middle of the wood
there are two dead vowels.

The vowels in the wood are cared for by birds
who cover them in strawberry leaves

and in the winter when the bodies are mounded
with snow, owls keep a vigil
from a nearby branch
by the light of the moon.

Poor vowels in the wood!
Poor vowels in the wood!

They can’t remember the vows in the wood
when they did woo.

How before they were dead
they lay on their backs
and looked at the clouds,
speaking softly to one another for hours.