the river

DEPARTURES

        “The riskiest part of jumping out of a moving vehicle is boarding.”


I am already ankle-deep in autumn grass, you’ve taken off;

as you fly through cloud constellations in airplanes
full of former stories, I watch mutely.

No longer will I find relaxation in this rooftop garden;
I am beginning to sink in up here.

Aftershocks of your movement make shells hanging from a dream-
catcher clatter like the echo of dinner plates downstairs

and even from over the horizon you make trees laugh as I chase
my hat blown over the edge and into the busy street below.

I leap, trying to open a window in the wind, but collapse
before the imaginary emergency exit.

When I come to, it’s 3:00 a.m. and I’m shivering
in a breeze that’s eerily calm, beard rippling full sail.