If caught in smoke
If trapped by fire
If forced to advance
through flames
visualize the faces
of the dead
flares at nightfall
burning through ice
flickering over water
the invisible hand
has plucked you
from the fire
though you
have not deserved it
nor to be dropped
a scorched leaf
at the stony margin where
cormorants hold up their wings
like shocked neighbors
aghast at
your catastrophes
the hand is
imaginary
indifferent to your fate
this sense
of an impending fist
some looming thing wishing to grind you
to paste
is pure projection but
be prepared to slip
soundless into water
to skim along
under the surface
breathing through a reed
each moment a lucid
pool in which to sink
Published in Summer Stock
Martha McCollough 