And if I felt into that dark ache
in my gut, would it cover me
with its stench? Would it stick
to me like tar, like muck, like pitch?
Would it suck me in like quicksand
so that the more I tried to save myself,
the deeper in I would sink?
And if I waved from its depths,
who would save me?
And if I don’t meet it at all,
what if I don’t meet it at all?