God and Her Vertigo

After all this time, she hates heights. Cross out
Mt. Olympus and the cloud perch. Heaven 
is simply a gas station in Cairo, Illinois or a finger
knuckling dirt, soon to be a nest for spring. Still
the why and the hum and the mantra. Still 
the crow returns for feeding. 

— 

The fisherboy in the crook of the moon, the greatest 
vantage. Waits for his hook to catch in clay, or tide
or writing — presses his hands to the cold sky, 
noting it’s worth saving.