Mark

Stetzer

Untitled I

There’s a smell when you press your nose

Against it, you won’t soon forget
How, with air – a child’s delight it becomes,

Smooth and delicate, a floating sun in a toddler’s sky – but when
The sun touches a shape edge, a point of a nail – or

Even by accident, grows too warm, it

Tears and fails and screams and

Children cry. Brute force could not finish it off until it

Grows to be that heavenly globe

And surrenders to its Achilles’ heel, a wide-mouth finger hold of

A heel.

Untitled 2

Is love criminal?
Hidden disbelief; the tears leave sorrow
Mysterious vanity felt and feared, joy sate at that
Silent oasis.