trust fall

Adam Tavel

Close your eyes and think of the porpoises
everyone but Marion loved when we swam
at our last retreat. The purpose here
is to hear what a soft breeze predicts
about next quarter’s earnings, knowing
your brains won’t splatter on the rocks
when you tip back into nothing. Something
is there. Someone’s arms are out. I like
to think of those arms as the Holy Spirit
even if it’s just our friends in accounting.
Can you imagine? They spend all day
making sure none of you embezzle
a hole puncher. A few of them are getting
up there, so try to feel lighter. Maybe suck
in your holiday gut. Don’t tally
all the cookies you regret. I’m looking
at you, Marion. No peeking. Not even
at the day moon working overtime
like a dateless intern. Can you smell
that honeysuckle? Another wonder
in nature’s spreadsheet. It all rounds up
clean to zero. Surrender when I say go.