(to John Lennon)

 

It was like a chance of light
the break
when purple has called and erred
pointless and inbred
to take and share
as in a flash of recognition.

 

Imagine
instant karma
let it be,
or anything else it should be blamed on,
but it's there just the same:
shameful death, John,
on your way home.

 

Poignant to see, finally
it, hardy and beat, sweating,
does shine through
not upon or under, across or around
but up into the spot
where vision rests, or would
thirstily, if thirsty was
the chance in blame or light
or in the recognition of the passage
after the fact of landing foot-sure
in the progression of those tiny pricks of brine
blanketing the way as blood
courses silently known,
that the message has past.

 

Imagine
instant karma
let it be
the chance of light.