Awkward traffic skirts the general fever of Post Office
and village stores. I rest on a bench in the shade of the
Cross Memorial and look out through the heat shimmer
at the warped reflections and glare of the shop windows.
Near me there are a dozen bleached wreaths, forgotten
remembrance, and a brass list of the fallen
An unexpected light blinds and infects
My thoughts turn sinuous, like cordage,
chunky ropes stretching sailboat cloth
surfing the pitch and yaw
a tonnage of waves sinking, rising
Someone's daughter carves
dirty curves sunwards, venus star
Perceptions shudder, smack into me
Rolling elements transubstantiate
lump together –
an embryo is forged
I am implanted, corrupted –
maybe I always yearned to be this way –
you will need imagination
you must sidestep, explore other worlds
You will get tired, lose the thread
The child drinks my blood
always thirsty
taxing
but I love my child
A disease
at last –
now, I am human
~ ~ ~