Not willingly but quickly
we fled the dreaded scene. Fresh
the feeling. Clear the motive.
Like children from a prickly
possum, the moment they press
Danger, we rushed remote. I've
tasted water sweeter than air,
immersed myself in someone's hair,
stepped on a needle. I've swiped
a dollar without a care
for whom I've deprived. Don't stare;
you've done as much. The slate wiped
clean, that's what I think I mean
here. Concentration pure. No
lesson left behind to plague
mere experience. To have seen
enough, enough, let it go,
and then succumb to the ache . . .
Too easy to be a part
of history like this. Pray
it doesn't happen to you.
It requires no special art
nor grace, just being in the way,
since it doesn't matter who.