Gloria
a yellow bird in the bare top
of a dead tree
hello bee in flowering herb
getting this sweet day
everything warm plants exhaling
filling up the robins’ bath
under the maple
mossy feathered ferntastic
mullein mullein mullein mullein
reading poetry outside
after mosquitoes before black flies
and the sweat of others drips on me
so grateful still to be
in high places
in excelsis
Before
when I bent my knees
slightly and pushed off
up I went slowly
always at the same intersection
of the small town where I grew up
to glide above the blurry trees
It seemed important to stay close to the trees
and every time I performed the dream-trick
flying
my ten-year-old self woke satisfied
Now
I test
whether the right knee
allows me to go downstairs easily
to stand among the trees
the blur gone I tell you
you clear near dear
to me
Living alone
swimming in words
is it any wonder
that when I surface
and speak
I sometimes say
the wrong thing
drowning
on dry land
For my mother on her birthday
Send her
the sweetest sleep
the one in which
she slips
from bodily discomfort
sobs and soft murmurs
disturbing her labour
to where
just before
she moves over the edge
she feels
one last moment
of perfect ease.
