So easily we corrupt
with uncontained contagions.
In moments the blight
beckons in moments
the carrierignites
a plague
beyond the systems
we die slowly.
More readily
we rearrange pebbles in the sand.
We bask in sun this promise
like a catastrophic trophy
of living.
Our human shores
where we lap at the intake
the emission
the operators’ disconnect
the want to need
to want
for remedy, a throbbing naked still.
A parlay of energy
all at once bright
a shudder of bodies
flooding into loving
bodies, this tragic art
we tie down like waves.
—
Originally from Iowa City, Josh Fomon is a political operative in Seattle. His book, Though We Bled Meticulously, was published by Black Ocean.