Tuesday, August 17, 2010

angel’s descent

when i stepped from the space balloon
seventy-five thousand feet above the earth,
i was alone in the cosmos---
a gamma ray chorus tingling my ear drums,
a wild ice bursting my finger tips,
a faint cinnamon scent of moisture
gathered by hyper-ventilating in my face mask—
                                         but when i stepped, i sprang
                                         this, a fatal swan dive.

i was caught in the lightest air,
the extreme atmosphere, much too thin, 
feathered my arching body
and gave no resistance to my entry.
and there came, in myriad thrill,
a rainbow stinging dots of the eye
flashing before my vision—--
          i beheld a third of the earth's surface,
the rockies' and andes' timeless glory,
more like car rust than mountain range,
the phallic thrust of florida into the gaping gulf,
the bulging belly of brazil, fertile, alive,
but the nuked nevada desert below
                                       thirsty for my blood.

what brought me to this lonely height
and spurred the first step of my launch—--
why an angel descends from grace,
why the wingless final flight
but for the sure understanding of abandon?
i felt it for a moment, so i felt it forever,
the abandon, a wrench in the abdomen
                                       when i saw how
                                       you looked away once.
but in my whirring glee, dream or ecstasy,
with my life winding down by terminal velocity,
six hundred miles an hour pushing earth to body,
i saw your face in the clouds
not so high above wyoming—--there because
you mentioned it once as a fine place to go,
you were smiling your kind carefree way
and i felt it happen,  even of clouds,
your smooth non-tanned face melt my core.
                                      what have i done?
                                      what i have done, is done.

i strove to give you space so i floated toward heaven---
but staring at heaven this long ascent has bored me.
i miss your breath on my lips,
the curlicue of your dark hair,
the enchantment of your reading voice,
the softness of your fingers on the hairs of my arm,
i miss your nearness, the life of you.
so now i have jumped, as an angel born from heaven,
without wings, looming over the world of men.
a final prayer escapes by wordless whisper—
                                       visit me love,
                                       find me,
                                       my body shall lie in sand.


  1. Is it yours? It's really beautiful. You know, sometimes I'd really like to express myself in longer poems. The more I try, the less I succeed. Guess I'm short and I'll have to learn how to live with it. =*

  2. this one's mine. you can always workshop your longer stuff for criticism. http://www.conjunction.com is a serious forum where you can expect good criticism. of course, "brevity is the soul of wit" i might like to trade you talents.


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