Poem

' Above Vitebsk,' Marc Chagall

Illumination

My breath
cannot expand my exterior
so you attach the hose of your Think-Tank
to my mouth, block all exit holes,
smooth loose skin and turn on
the illuminating gas.
You fill me completely – fingernails
pop off – and you free my ties to the Earth.
Light-headed and giddy
I inch away from the experimental
platform and begin to see things in ways
that you do. Tops of trees are eye-level. Baby birds
smile, are fed in nests of twigs, grass, hair.
The ends of oak branches are caught in the web
of caterpillar silk and a lone Peregrine hawk clings to one
branch blinking some teary-eyed message in the wind
to me. I look down, a small pond tattoos
an open field near a dairy farm, the twin blue
silos like a pair of child’s eyes. Chimneys
of a mill town exhale soot into storm
clouds, hanging over the brick homes
and tarred roads that connect in blocks
and ovals like a massive fishing net,
ripped and frayed, restrung
and stitched. Nothing can hold
me, I drift higher
and float along a map
of rivers and lakes. Everything
is microscopic and demands my attention;
objects miles away appear to rest in my hands
when I hold them out before me. Lightning pricks
the ground like injections. Satellites glide and orbit in homage
to the stars. I trust the Man on the Moon when he winks
to me. Clouds shadow my flight, try to learn the way
to the ocean which suddenly lies before me
like a blue Easter egg
in my palms.