seventy-five thousand feet above earth,
i am alone in the cosmos.
a gamma ray chorus tingles my ear drums,
a wild ice bursts my finger tips,
a faint cinnamon scent, gathering moisture,
hyper-ventilating in my face mask—-
but when i step, i spring
this fatal swan dive.
caught in the lightest air,
an extreme atmosphere, thin,
where no sense of motion or weight
feathers my arching body
and gives no resistance to my entry.
there comes now a myriad thrill,
a rainbow stinging of dots in my eyes
flashing of vision.
i behold a third of the earth's surface,
the rockies, the andes, timeless glory, rust on a car,
florida's phallic thrust into a gaping gulf
brazil's bulging belly, fertile, alive
a pock-marked and nuked nevada desert, thirsty for my blood.
what brought upon this lonely height
and spurred the first step of this launch—-
why does an angel descend, a wingless final flight?
a sure understanding of abandon,
felt for a moment, so then felt forever,
abandon, a ceaseless wrench of the abdomen,
an invitation to nevermore.
when i knew how
you turned away
and that was all
but now in my whirring glee, dream or ecstasy,
where my life winds down by terminal velocity,
six hundred miles an hour pushing earth to this body,
i see your face again in these clouds
above wyoming
which would be a fine place to go.
you smile your kind carefree way.
i feel it, even of clouds,
your face melts my core.
what have i done?
what have we done?
done is done.
to give you space, i floated to heaven,
but staring only at heaven,
by long and lonely ascent,
wears on my life's purpose.
i miss you
so i have jumped
from my space balloon,
and now born of this heaven,
without wings,
i loom for a short while
over the world of men.
i fall to a place you may find,
by then a grave of sand,
with a canyon of stone at my head.
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