do not sleep. 

They walk our streets

climb stairs of roofless houses

latchless windows blown-off doors

they are looking for the bed by the window

cocks crowing at dawn lizards in the eaves 

they are looking for the men

who loved them at night the women

who made them crawl like puppies

to their breasts babes they held in arms

the boy who climbed trees the Haiyan dead

are looking in the rubble for the child 

they once were the youth they once were

the bride with flowers in her hair 

red-lipped perfumed women

white-haired father gap-toothed crone 

selling peanuts by the church door

the drunk by a street lamp waiting 

for his house to come by the girl dreaming 

under the moon the Haiyan dead are 

looking for the moon washed out 

in a tumult of water that melted their bodies 

they are looking for their bodies that once 

moved to the dance to play 

to the rhythms of love moved 

in the simple ways--before wind 

lifted sea and smashed it on the land-- 

of breath talk words shaping

in their throats lips tongues

the Haiyan dead are looking 

for a song they used to love a poem 

a prayer they had raised that sea had

swallowed before it could be said 

the Haiyan dead are looking for

the eyes of God suddenly blinded

in the sudden murk white wind seething

water salt sand black silt--and that is why 

the Haiyan dead will walk among us

endlessly sleepless--