“Dying is an art,
like everything else.”
- Sylvia Plath
On wistful nights,
I open the window -
To unleash the Wind Doe,
Which trots into the atmosphere.
We gallantly face
All conflicts - with love.
We gracefully engage
Into rhythmical sway.
This fawn and I,
We learn – and we continue to do so.
We do it so
It feels like life -
We’re a light
With everlasting shine –
Our lumens are
Indefinite.
It’s not just air,
It’s life.
When lights flicker,
It’s fine.
When crescendos rise
So will I.
Slowly swaying
To the long cadenza.
With every step
We heighten this tattered skyrise
We lift the framework
Of this olden building
With every
Motion and spin and sway
The music lifts the
Eyeline –
It’s the symphony
Of life.
With elevation
Continually on rise
We crash right through
The ozone blanket
We ascend beyond the stratosphere
With every step and sway and gesticulation -
This skyscraper - is on liftoff.
The windows have fractured
The tiles have flown out
The ground is tumultuous
Shaking about
The paintings, the beds,
All the furniture has plunged
Into this constant
Ascension and rise
And rise – and fall
And shatter and wind
Within,
the madness of the night
And the lift and movements
And the wind won’t stop blustering
The quake, the wobble,
The gust on the face
The hair with the wind
The clothes convulse in the midst of this state
The climb,
The climb, the intense incline
Storming through,
With blows and uproars
And gobbledygook
Until,
Until, we reach a point
Between the thermosphere and the Heavens.
We lifted the eyeline
Beyond the cityscape
Beyond the
Stenciled moon
Beyond the Golden
Stars
And with every breath we take,
And with every incoming breeze
We embrace the past,
And I welcome – the overture and the decline.