Repeated through the neighborhood,
the perfect invasion,
into the depths of an aching sigh
or the slit between thoughts
like “and what…and yet . . .”
weighing in at one billionth of a milligram
and in a nanosecond,
organism's birth
attaches to a host
in bed,
behind some membrane,
invisible soldiers
from another world,
a trillion times smaller
than a blink
and more powerful
than the fiery burst
of a comet’s tail –
in the brief phase of its spreading
throughout your body,
you will go about your dreams
as usual.
JOHN GREY is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Soundings East, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in West Trade Review, Willard and Maple, and Connecticut River Review.