Member-only story
A man does what he can
A Poem
Rolling gently
your head lulls back and forth.
The earth turns
again and again.
The night can strike at any moment
despite the tracking of the hours
all is well all is good.
You proceed in spite of yourself
if only to prove to some reef of clouds
that you are worth a thing
worth another breath amongst the spin.
The heart pumps yet gains no respite
and finds no rest amidst the cooing crowds
your soul is a grain of film set by the rain.
Oh earth! Oh sky of mine
And yet life. And yet this.
The mud is brackish against your lips,
the cobalt is red against black skin
eyes last seen stalking the jungles of India
foam licks the lips of a predator
the blood runs red and thick
tears spill into a bed of coral
— happenstance to have ended up here
in this misting film of dream spray
spread like concrete atop the red earth.
Who am I to ask more of life. To ask more of this being.
Who am I to explain the shoreline to another man
The soul recognizes what it wishes
it can do no more than it can do.
and so
your will is the last thing I leave to you.
