This crushing craft
This crushing craft of being
a parent without parents.
Falling from a tree
As a nine year old.
Mapping the light as it spirals
Out of my dizzy eyes. Rattled
By reality’s gravity. Then the light
Gathered into the sun,
The swimming shadows into leaves.
The earth slowed down until
I could stand again. Now the sense
Is more of a sliding away decade,
Wonder with a sideshow of work.
In the south one day by a public library
An elephant’s trunk reached out for me
Through the temporary circus fencing
And I reached back. The vine of muscle
Coiled almost to my shoulder and held.
For a full minute we stood there
In a terrible freedom, neither of us letting
Go as everything else spun into shadow.