“the millstones
commenced their grinding again”
–Denise Levertov
I am only
a tremble
in this air,
which I gulp
as if drowning
in a water far deeper
than I could ever
wade before
slipping
beneath the surface
with a last
quick thrash.
This morning
at the rear of the meeting,
I read poetry
as they sold
their promises
of puffery
and change
without change,
and felt fragments
blister and flake
from my soul
like painted facades
in the sharp summer
light until only
tears remained
to rise
against the broken levee.
(April 26, 2014)
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