at a certain age
he found vertigo
sucking his imagination
over the twelfth floor balcony rail
siren gravity pleaded
from the edges of the planet
horizons begged voluptuous
clawed into the ledges of sleep
he sat on the edge of the bed
cold-sweating the plunge
to the bedroom floor
now spring beckons
like a voice in a well
calling him on the icy ledge
of summer
returning birds
in the necrotic winter wilderness
scream of heat
and birth
and he wants
to yield
to hope
to jump
