Since my death losing was impossible,
impossible as living forever.
You might think it
confining, this well; not so.
Mosquitos hum the air
and spiders drop by.
lowers and raises the bucket.
The long faces
of horses peer in from the earth.
about where to go. You’re always
up or down. When you wake
reflect the sky. The stones gather
water and space mingle in fluxes
on the surface.
There you’re between.
A hover-plane lands, then sails