Poetry and occasional prose from Yasha Yatskan's archives

Gifts

Wild river
on its shores
 
touches your shins,
marking the same
 
place god did, on
the other side the gap
 
makes, the wide time
spent asleep, how
 
many fires
can one body hold.
 
--
 
That wave
struck the kitchen
 
first, blowing
the stone wall
 
apart, we were
crawling wristdeep
 
in salty water
to the door when
 
it flew open. Behind
us was the courage:
 
O how the eyes
go first.