MATHIAS SVALINA

Diagnostics

Snow blindness
from the incantations
of sterile skin
& results.

Water stoops
for diagnosis
like the cellophane

around the bunched
flowers of my autumn.

The boiler is lit.
My heart again
is indigestible.

I cannot cut myself
from facts.

It is cold &
the trees are all dying,
their bark
soft & black
as rotten meat.

If you are alive
one year from today
I will ring brass bells
& do something dramatic,
like drink a glass
of water.