Poem: Far Gone

 

Far Gone

 

slight tilts of wind

sculpt easy drifts

when my palms are feathers,

so i imagine, perched 

above a boulder, not on it,

and so cannot fall.

 

no death here,

for to soar as i am,

i must have died already.

there is no weight,

peace all around, depthless.

celestials in a pageantry of blue.

 

so high above,

my own antics now minuscule,

i forget about competition.

none of the fussy worries

of ego or money.

 

it becomes all too natural to ask why,

and then not to care.

to dwell, instead, on a gift

which no one in the

valley of asphalt down below 

can see.

 

it isn’t fair.  how my urban life

is so easily destroyed,

doomed now to watch the

criss-cross sluice of shiny cars,

swineherded as they are by the anxious rich,

never again to believe.

 

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