I listen to the story of the Messenger
and wonder at my idle hands.
The question of living
has always had complicated answers;
never have I faced the gun
pointed in fear.
Scraps and scrapes a plenty,
death has almost found the key
many times,
I have looked on
as he called to her
and she dutifully followed,
but if this living can seem
so surreal
when I have never seen the other world
curtain bellows from an unknown breeze
how can I beckon to truth
that even now washes distant shores
in its oily gleam?

--philip G. Taylor