Going Under
It won't
be so bad you know.
Perhaps a
nice light rain, almost warm,
the
droplets enough hush
to keep
focus centered, no sliding
off of
calm. Of course
motion is
a must, to simply keep walking, one step,
then the
next, every breath well-
placed to
avoid surrendering
will and
blacking out.
This bed
of liquid asks at least
for
deliberation, nothing else
really, a
few strategically deposited stones
and shoes
left
as
markers just outside the
tide's
reach. Also,
song is
essential, some music
either
hummed or imagined to fill ears, senses,
so the
nostrils, mouth, lungs
remain
stationed in a sphere
of
cognizant preparation,
the
rationale of fingers,
limbs
dancing submerged.
Facing
Disappointment
Rarely
easy money:
nerves
entangled,
catgut on
cobblestone,
birds
pecking:
a lovely sight.
Melt,
melt back
to the
empty air space of fervor.
Now first
visions accept defeat.
Who can
resist it, this almost bag
lady in
her backwards blouse, costume pearls,
hair
barely combed, rescued, if you want to call it that,
by her
dead husband's pension,
all the
lost change of some posh 1950s gentlemen's room
in an
historic Iowan hotel.
Her
features tell the story.
Ours'
too, chin up, eyes hot, blinked clear,
defying
break down.