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.