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Poem written while regarding John Watters, English 93.


The nymphs will never feel their
Mortality, like a brittle rope,
Seething from the coiled depths
of their soul. They are not
like me, trapped in time,
suffocated by fate and slave
to my own faults
and desires.

A chasm opens before me
and, invitingly, the river
murmurs below. I cannot
be certain. My hesitation
inhibits my actions.

I engorge myself on sleep
the way an overgrow cat
engages in the idle chase of an
insect. Enrapture me, part me
and enter me, cause me to want sleep
no more. Be not delicate with me -
but rough, unhewn, sturdy.
The chasm awaits your decision.


kelly_garner@unc.edu
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copyright kjg 1994