for Andrei Bolkonsky
Suppose it rose, a coffin
among swimmers
Suppose it was a hand,
brittle as the fall it was meant to break
What alliances have you made
in the name of senescence
Suppose it could be shed and hidden in corners,
behind appliances and doorways
Suppose it couldn’t
Suppose it was the surface of the moon
and only a privileged few could describe it exactly
Suppose it had no color
Suppose you had no idea what to make of it
and instead of cowering you sang
Poetry – Published in Ducts.org, 2014
Link to publication