Friday, March 26, 2021

A Change of Days


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?

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