Heavy

A stonewall echoes
and I don’t know what I wrote
last year
These inklings are inky,
benevolent.
Halted flow can’t give a dam
It all adds
for the stonewall through the sky
cutting the ozone
to slice in half a life.

Too much thought
blockades a porous memory
You emptied out the garbage
to remember what you ate
Now you can taste.

When I was young I was old
and when I was old I was ageless.

Yesterday a fly died.
Today a grand ceremony is taking place.
Nuns painted the wings with gold and built a mohair coffin
embroidered with holy spiders’ thread.
The President of the President
chose a sea burial off the Indian Ocean.

Huge planes
of the 1970s
boarded everyone as they flew with a fire equal
to eight trips around America.
Children chose a sunflower bed
to float the fly off from a spotless shore.

I forgot to go,
I was feeling inordinately heavy.