SUFFERANCE
Rain, rain, go on
and rain. I’ve been given
this time by my mother.
I’ve known about water
forever, and fear
is no stranger either.
Rain. Go on. Rain.
The fires burn
no matter what I do,
the fires of my fathers,
and will sear me
one day, maybe soon,
and also you.
Burn, go on and burn.
We are not much —
light, ash, particulate
of the erotic and such
temporary tragedies
as interrupt it. To call us
seeds would serve,
or waterbeads, or sparks.
Go on. On and on.
— Richard Hoffman
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