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.