become red for me become the softness of my mother

before i was hoisted out by the shepherds crook into light

and exhaustion  become frail for me become something

perfect a fresh cut emerald each facet reflecting that patch

of skin on your wrist that makes you shudder when i wet it

with my spit       and when you fell it happened in still life

the arc of the wine glass through the air and the flash of a

naked foot then crimson stained sheet music maybe haydn 

strands of hair leaving tiny rivers on the paper as if i was

floating high above a lost red planet watching life emerge

in the water and something is crawling now, beckoning

me back down but please i do not want to go