What he remembers is not the shock of pain
but waves of breath lifting and carrying him to the hollows of a cedar
where owls cover him with their wings.
He knows now the burgled house unlocks its own doors.
The murdered man solicits his death and pays the killer in advance.
The widower sleeping on his wife’s side of the bed is uncovered there
by the moon.
Everything is a succession of being, always busy becoming
A glass of water becomes the Pope drop by drop.
The boy remembers this and is comforted.