That Day

If you can feel the rub of water, the tops of your feet drifting under, your ankles thin pilings barnacled and you can't see beneath the surface but there is reason to believe anchoring.

If you can believe, lethargy overcomes. Maybe he'll meet you there. Maybe he'll lift the water, if you can articulate, and maybe he'll leave your drying breasts never to be seen again, if you're lucky.

If you're lucky you'll never read the things written about you and maybe none of us is lucky and just look at obituary writers talk about unlucky talk about self-reflection, God, you just can't stand it.

If you are God then are you also fond of me? This question is unrelated to luck. I will blame you but that's what happens when love is no longer complicated, down on my luck and bitterest wind roughing the knuckles, you understand, you've been in scrapes.

If I don't come to lift the water, try to remember what it's like to imagine imperfection and then on that day you created imperfection, and it was good.