It comes to this like all the gift
bags during children’s parties:

too many surprise to abhor,
like candies that trick the teeth,
toys blasted into space, thinking
they are angels reaching the horizons,
marbles ballasted onto the ground
like the planets rolling on the cement.

Peaceful times when our biggest
problem is the darkness: how it
eats everything that we have,
afraid of the emptiness that
will be built.

Now, I found another candle to waste;
held to me is a new gift bag
filled with surprises, but this time

There’ll be no toys, no angels,
no candies. Only bandages,
syringe, an alcohol, and
a bottle of *****—

everything which defines

emptiness. (But that is not
to say I’m afraid of it.)