The bound flow of a calligrapher's hand,
The bandaged fingers and braced-up wrists
of a gymnast's well-chalked grip:
What kind of gift
have you brought to this meal?
What will you say
that you have not said before?
With a primate's practiced peck
of thumb and forefinger I catch
a sugar ant, and absentmindedly
roll it to its death:
I will notice the smell of its small catastrophe
later, when the sun is high, and I rub my eyes,
aching from the light.
I hesitate to go again into the world
until I can answer these questions.
If this small space is room enough for sin
why would I need more?
Post a Comment