The Other Night I Lifted My Face And
the other night I lifted my face and
tried to make a fist. raised myself on my
hands and arched over the gorge. but it was
(once again) a momentary effort.
I do not have the strength to be moved
over bent knees into glass crested paths
(I had been here before and no longer
have the nerve) I had waited here before
silent, one hand arched over the groined pit.
nothing moves. the sun holds me pinned bleakly
while I haul back my posted arms legs and
tentacles. nerves glass crusted quiet. going
time pools about my legs and lies in eddies
dries, thickens in the sun; moves less and less
- May 18,1978