July 27th, 1919: Eugene Williams, 17, found dead
at the 26th Street Beach, who apparently drowned
after being struck on the head by a blunt object.
What might seem like dumb luck
isn’t, it’s not happenstance, or being
in the wrong place at the right time,
it’s about learning to see a certain point
in the air, and wanting to touch it
with the stone. What I know about
religion, I know what the sky calls
from your hand, you deliver. I know
the angle of ascent, the pitch and point
of the line, and I’m not ashamed.
The fate of the rock, like that of the boy,
falls somewhere between gravity and god.