I: HE REMEMBERS
As the parachutist drops through deserted rooms,
looking back he sees the moon as a sack
spilling out the sky, and smells the shadows.
Looking back he sees constellations break
from moorings, stars drift down on trees where birds
gust in lower branches. His skin loosens,
Moves around like melting ice on windows.
A new light fractures flowers; the room fills.
And suddenly he remembers everything.
Streets of childhood, his mother’s teas of grass
and herbs. He calls her name, and she is never very far away.
II: HE PLAYS THE CELLO
Birds in a great fan widening. First one sway,
then another, blessing the small brown house,
whose nearest neighbor also left.
Something has come by white, late, and swept
the floors, polished mirrors, stood his cello
up on its point. Listen: water silking
Over cliffs is rolling back
in great shimmering bolts.
III: HE WALKS
Shadows of smoke over snow. He keeps the heart
of the empty house warm all night. His eyes
move like amazed animals through a world
So suddenly removed. A new sun lifts.
Stone walls still define this land. He rises.
Walks among them, displacing clouds. Landscapes
Shine on skin. The sun lengthens. From way
off here, you can see a man, now little more
than boy, step out into the center of
An unmarked lake.
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