Not Swimming                                                                                                          

Ave Atque Vale

Hail, and farewell. 

― Catullus

No more the saints plunging half-dry into

desert playas to blunt ineffable thirsts.

They vanished when bishops drained soul

from the search. But here it is, that extinct

holy appetite, resurrected as pilgrim plankton

churned up from the geoid, where you are

not swimming in the dark. From up here,

all we can see are limbs helplessly pedaling

against invisible currents of goodbye.

Seems you’re always saying goodbye:

to someone you only just met, a feeling

you only just had, a thing you thought

you wanted, a moment that’s not yet

come. Everything before you have it,

before you do it. And everything you

think you are, thought you were, imagined

to become. Wave goodbye to pleasure

while you’re feeling it. Wave hard to here

as you’re arriving, and harder to goodbye

before you leave.

Hello, trial. Hello, surrender. Hello, goodbye.

We are not swimming, not heading anywhere

in this delusive fluid ringed with breakwater

where you least expect it to rise.

The tidal waters are sweet with poison and wine.

Exquisite Pandemic, Spring 2021. http://www.exquisitepandemic.com