STRETCHING INTO DARKNESS
Ten Poems by Robert Plath

my fingers were once waves, stars, mountains
the world before it began
now they are just my fingers
my blood fills them
they hold a cigarette
smoke curls through my arm hair
I'm so tired
I never asked for this transformation
my hands are heavy
if only I were the shadow of that maple
stretching into the darkness

(LIQ Summer 99)