Thursday, November 12, 2015

Chronic Inflammation

And what else would life be?
Matter inflamed with pain,
With want, with faith, with change.

A tiny swimming pool
Beside a brown hotel
Under the sandstone cliffs

Is ringed with aching souls,
Swollen, gravity-struck
Flesh easing flesh one way

Or the other, sauna,
Swim, conversation,
View. As good as it gets,

Observes one visitor
To another stranger,
Rubbing an injured knee

And soaking in the sun.
I can't trace the accent.
No matter. No answer.

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