tomorrow. He is going to dive
from an opened door into nothing
but sky. He's old enough now
to do this and to always remember
the thin rush of blue, how insubstantial
the freight of his bones. At exactly
the same time we'll say to anyone
around, "Right now our son is falling
through his world."
of the night. Parties of them
bay into a dark nor'easter
their howls heard
over the hum of an iron
-throated deisel engine's growl
and rattle as it drags its train.
In a grape sky creamed with cloud
the wily moon challenges their gall: a lone
headlight it doesn't blink
as clear as day in the night, a milky disk
in a cold sky; an ancient, cloudy eye
that sees into forever, it falls, a silent cataract.