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ISSUE:  Winter 2022


“Up!” she signals, syllabic cup
     meaning wherever I am now—up
or down—floor, high chair—change direction!—

arms lifted expecting transport to tall bed,
     countertop, bottom step, the off-limits shed.
Churn of her impatient waiting,

of my anything-to-hold-her-close-a-moment  
     before her landing, already off & go.
Brink’s an asymptotic spell, time coursing

through the body. On an airplane once,
     descending at midnight into the bejeweled
circuitry of a dying city, I felt I lay under Earth’s quilt,

dreaming up into galaxies long lost. Teeming rain
     today, the vultures afterward sleek as hens
some chak-chuckling in the high beech

as others spread full funereal wings & fall
     to the field’s alizarin floe of felled doe.
Be holy, be one, this descent, this rise,

up in down, down in up’s disguise.



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