Who felled the tree that locked the land to the sky?
“Our hands imbibe like roots, so I place them on what is beautiful in this world.”
- St. Francis of Assisi
Still, we grasp at fleeting
things. Like Francis of Assisi we
place our hands, imbibing —
find thorns, find need. I
struck America when everyone
was looking, the kind of strike
that rattles your palms. Aluminum
bat to fence post.
Step back to see the myth marks, we bleed
like rain into streams. You tell me again
when you first lost your balance. You
tell me again you have wings.
To those who have tried to leave —
like Earthrise or Sodom,
who spin to finally see.