There was a question
posed I suppose by
the words’ weight and
the way they stack the deck,
by the side of the phrasing,
something in the degree
the slope takes to mitigate
descent. Suppose it took
a sky that shade of blue,
the sweat and stick of
heat and shimmer,
the obliteration of the atmosphere
in these tragic captions.
There was something said
again and again, ritual
prophecy and prayer,
a warning left behind by the wind,
that dry that seizes
the breath in the breach,
the ask worked from want,
an answer left like a brick
chocking the tire in the drive,
waiting for the wheel to turn.
