O2

I have heard
Only the calling out of a name
Telling me

“Wake your mother NOW!”

It isn’t the darkness
It is the one thin muscle
Making half your face a stricture
Or the way your vision
Cartwheels

Over words.

It isn’t merely waking
From the sound of grass
Crunching underfoot
In golden fields
It is the way pain stabs
Into bones and brain
The ache of too much
Or too little
Oh Two

Oh
Oh

It isn’t even the way sounds fade
Or smell is erased
Or words turning into babble on tongues
It is the way
Gulping breath feels
Whooping