Beads
A bead of red rolls down my arm,
an eloquent prayer, a scream.
Alive in a way the arm is not
coming awake in a dream.
A drop of swirling living cells,
abandoning a foundered host,
drawing a line on the curve of meat,
segregating machine from ghost.
Cousins drop from a fluttering lid,
another line following a tear,
rolling along a wrinkly nose,
washing away horror, sorrow and fear.
life turned liquid
flesh to dust
aspirations unmet
iron will to rust
either
[ caught between galaxy and quark
a trivial flame in the dark
nothing cares that a mind was here
the flicker of a trivial spark ]
or
[ as my eyes dim, and drop finds drop
your voice, Erin, fills my mind
your hand reaching out to help me forth
horror sorror fear left behind ]
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