Originally posted 3/10/2012.
fire there’s ash. Warmth
underneath, pale wisp-paper
above, easily dispersed, easily blown around.
flood comes muck. Damp
goes all the way through.
Deep and sucking, holds fast.
love — what?
What should we call that hot bog
that draws us down and won’t let us go?
love — let’s not call it.
Let’s not even name it. Let’s say:
first fire and flood, then ash and mud;
then, after love, nothing.
Nothing comes after love.