pinkyllaa

you may have fallen breathless

before the door

of the needle exchange

amid a relapse, upon the blade,

was it the blackened spoon

or the likewise bulb

that beckoned you?

a blameless sin

recalling the color variations

those separate tragedies

painted over your eyes

alive, as bright as flame, holding god

as shield before the tempest

a god you found

among the bars, in the stone,

in the laundry room surrounded

by those prison grays

for a moment, though,

for a time, at least,

you lived, remade by love

defined in precious charity

and righteous fury

a burning that may have eaten you

as insects doubtless

drank of christ in his cave

you died the same,

police that gathered

outside the methadone clinic,

centurions in the garden,

a serpent’s voice

that tempts you with a kingdom

a kiss, a hit of narcan, a siren choir,

another silence, a hollow

where a voice should be

and hope, perhaps,

that peace will find you