Fell from the ceiling, or it rose
on the wind’s buoy, lifting you

weightless through gravity’s sea
to an unknown world free of pain—

whose unrelenting presence
drove you here.

Through an open window,
wars and truces,

a throng of crows protesting hoarsely
as if seeking redress for your grief,

a cattle drive across silver-lit sky,
in search of open pasture—

the world goes on,
with or without you.

If it weren’t for the tiny wisp
of sun-swept hair, exalted by its glow,

golden as storied harps or autumn
light delighting your gaze—

sleep would have overtaken you,
your last play for self-induced anesthesia.

In another shapeless sphere,
in past world’s spaceless time,

energy swirled and dissipated,
the vast, cool dust of stars condensing,

bending light for you, as if to bear
the weight of your heaviest thought.

-From Thin Places, forthcoming, Salmon Poetry, 2022
(featured in “Apple News,” via Poets and Artists Magazine)