day FIVE HUNDRED and THIRTY FOUR

torment of combustion

cold business of assembling death
amassing matches


growing hoard-pile

of sulfur and sticks

in reading books


i beat


pages back


into the


next fire-dodger


stopped by words on paper
wad in a bullet’s path


missile flare


pain is the seventh vital sign
breathing too


lover
(reader is another word for lover)


i’ll cup my hands
and make you a secluded cave
a singing bowl
a new lung


bring you red grapes
sea salt
vigor enough to staunch our wounds


fresh water drink drink
put out the sun


--Paul Koniecki