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