hymn

Here I sit,
crossed by gashes of light, watching
pictures skitter and disappear; each
lasts only a moment.

On the other side,
legs split, a victory symbol, pink-tipped,
waits with claws splayed--
an outline--suggesting

eternity of loss. The current, strong and
altered only by the touch of
time passed, breeds: a germ colony,
next a penful of toxic ink.

I feel a splash now, warm gusts.
the roar slackens in a few fast
ticks. So then, will I touch your chest, and imagine this?

This morning there will be no fear;
no fear nor regret.


I wrote most of this poem this last summer and finished it today.