Issue 196, Spring 2011
I wanted sky. That was my ambition. And now I’m being tugged
Up a small steel mountain,
A burly chain beneath the car hauling my weight
And a trail of my fellow aspirants. Poised at the top, we waver.
Then the slow turn downward,
The gathering speed, hurtling
Toward the earth from which, with a paste of mud and spit,
In that one foreboding
Story, the god
Made the man.
Upward again, turning and writhing in air, my body become a space
Where, as in love,
The great forces stream through:
Space, wind, light, the seconds blurring by like years.