This morning I drug the body
into the shed
and gave my statement.
It’s summer and the world is starving itself.
I lay back on the dry grass
and watch all the light get sucked out of the sky.
Earlier after dinner,
I sat on the toilet and read an article in Science.
It said rouge black holes
aren’t really rouge. They just wander here and there.
And they’re very small. Twenty miles wide.
Something like that.
I wonder if one
would choose to come
through the center of space,
miss every satellite
and bit of icy rock,
and strike near
at a twenty-one-mile distance.
I would like to see that.
Very soon, I know,
I will fall into a large hole
I won’t be getting out of.
My whole life is in the past.
Would you bless me?
Even Judas was a man.
He hung a short noose
they cut him down from.
I wonder if he also hoped
a moment. I can’t imagine
any relief.
I think that might be the blackest thing.
