Waiting for a miracle. Seems
we took the wine
and
the candle oil a little
for granted,
should
have left
us with water and
shadows, eight days in the dark
doesn't seem so
terrible
compared to this.
They say that it's cancer,
slow and steady,
they
say it's
irreparable,
that
it's
late,
much
too late,
they say not bad news
only bad luck. Nothing left but waiting for
a miracle. **** the waiting
of this world, of
this
life.
Repressed tension in
muscles burning to break free, to flail
out, to hit something
but what
good
will that
do?
Deep
breaths.
nothing left but
to wait for that bomb to fall,
that plane to crash,
for that
baseline
pulse
to
whisper
mono-
tone
in
my
ear.
No-
thing
left
but
a
miracle.

Not bad news
--they say--

only bad luck.