← v8n2, Fall 2009Poetry · Volume 8, Number 2
The Singing
I welded myself between the days
of January, February. But they sang
as I boiled parasites from the bath.
They sang as I lowered into that water.
I wanted a blue night with blue-white rings,
lifts of smoke-light from the centuried houses.
To be on the balcony with Josh,
with Martin and Rose, watching smoke from chimneys.
I wanted to see others alive
and count myself among them.
But they sang as I boiled parasites
from the bath. They sang
as I lowered into their water.
