ISSUE: Spring 1993
“Not Really” whispered
The lightning
To the firefly
The lightning
To the firefly
“Not Ready” mumbled
The candle stick
To the oak log
“Not a Knot” said
The ice cube
To flame’s mantle
“I am Not” intoned
The entrance
To the exit
“Not Yet” screamed
Gravity
To the dust motes
That will rise
From the ash
Of this body
Glowing in
A golden sun
A pillar of light