Elegy for the Gnat

who drowned

in my two fingers,

 

denied the bitter

sweetness of a black-

 

berry and nearly

surrendered to the meat

 

of a melon, but considered,

mostly, the craft

 

of thirst or death

and tongued itself

 

goodbye. oh, gentleness.

oh, small brown float

 

of a life. what news

should I give your beloveds?

 

most of them having

followed the rinds,

 

which too,

though I often forget,

 

are edible. blame

this on my desire,

 

which only knows

a soft end. and because

 

I am hesitant to end a thing,

you’ve done it

 

for me.