2 December 2002 | Vol. 2, No. 4


Sick maybe, and if so yes for home, but not homesick,

that place where vast pastures continue as horizons—

but scared, and hoping as in a game with friendly players

they let you take back a wrong move. That something

small as a virus, black bacteria with a bad flagellum,

coming in low under the radar cannot take us down,

work against us—beautiful fools for unity—but let us

back into ourselves as we knew us, no twinges, pain.