Between Two Rivers

Pliant and pale the bed sheet stretches
beneath my back, each wrinkle a sweat-stained
twist in the night as I watch myself lie
here tearing open the void. Shadows throw
every thing into sharp relief—except
that which needs it most. Pop: each cough
is a vaporous firework, a bullet cloud
of germs. Beyond the window roars a plane
I wish could ferry me away; but no sky
or river will bear this body yet. Not while
head and foot and ass keep sinking; not while
the temple trembles with each lash of the tongue
and the throat roars furiously for new breath,
desperate for any distraction from death.