By Michelle Fessler
We might be
the open ocean water
An endless body
with no clear beginning.
Or maybe we’re only the fric
tion of wind.
Two waves
lapping into the other, doubling into one.
Is it too cliché
to liken us to a storm?
(Yes.)
Whatever we are tonight,
tomorrow, we’ll be the bog at the bottom of the swamp.
(Or perhaps we’ll screw that and just go to Denny’s instead.)
Clamor 