Easter

EASTER

for Michelle.



I made a wish
for someone else: the
me who stumbles
in an old cold
river, the

me who exists in
another place, outside
of time and of
stumbling. I made

a spark thrash between
synapses, allowing
some empathy with this
me; I watched him
fondle a wet pebble he

lifted from the brook
like it was a lost
chick. Wandered over to
him, the woman and the
child he walked
with; kissed the

triumvirate of meek
smiling people on the
cheek, and walked off
alone as small birds

sang an oratorio.
Their peppered nests
sat hot and hazy in
trees, above a whirlpool.