Oh write something pleasant already, said
The glittering lake on a holiday. You may be
Down to your last playing piece, last hand,
Last possible subterfuge before the people
Tasked with such responsibilities start taking
Your freedom away from you, before the frog
In your lungs spawns, before your rotting
Organs pull out all the stops in, what, a week
Or two? Or maybe you can squeak past
The closing gates for a few more moves, but
Either way the day is exceptionally fine
Without you, so feel lucky for the view
And write in a giving mood. At the beach
Of gravel, subdued waves reflected blue
At an angle, allowing, from another slice,
Glimpses of pebbles deeper than all
But the most capable human could dive,
And the body on the shore whispered
Back to the glitter, so nobody else could
Hear except that heedless water, I love you.
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