The Silence

You are the contaminated prick of a collapsing
vein under purple skin; you
Are the sound of Amazing Grace as powdery
clumps tumble from pine branches above; you are
The pair of prying eyes waiting for small
feet rustling leaves in the park at dusk; you are the
Cells multiplying to keep up, only to
weakly lag behind; you are the one
In ten thousand chance that this vessel will
spiral into the Pacific; you are the bridge that
Breaks, the rope that ties, the barrel that smokes;
You are all that there is because
You are all that will come.