Snorkel Enough

Hugged to death down on the firm, not too firm, belly of the back-floating bear, aurora finales lofting overhead like the quilt you forgot completely, mint and maraschino stained from the night they sat with you, two tonsils less, patting your head, you of all people, so deep under this icy sheet and falling, the bear having dropped you with only a shell and this toylike snorkel you might have put to your lips at any time, but for a free hand, and here’s a free hand, and this once you can go back, to where you please, and drag into those air-logged lungs what the cigarettes, and whatever else, weren’t snorkel enough to reach.