Et in Arcadia ego
the sky pulled the child taught against its blue
breast and squeezed the imagination running through her legs
over the field of lavender as the misbegotten green became
moon scent and shadow falling like a troll’s steps
beneath the field mice squeaking in their moment of stumbling
flight where the rattle dismantles the galaxy star by star
and thumb by thumb plumbing depth of another voyage
if I let go of the kite, will I lose the islands and the water
forvever
below the father reaches out and tugs the disappearing child
into the world as another rise races to break itself free
tumble and bruise along chins and knees like an old alphabet
of two hearts locomotive for each place hidden under a bush
or dug up and carried through an undeniable world
in the lap of a hammock swinging quietly past the shadows
and trees dreamt long ago by a hedgehog in the fog
if I let go of the kite, will I lose the boat dock and the bone-rust winch
forever
far from the verdant nubs of teeth rattling beneath her toes
divorced from shoes and the dead rodents in the pull of grass
from island to island in the distance a door beckons between
boulders and odyssey and breath alone
where you remain loquacious in the tilt
of the child’s yellow day abloom on the sheets of the unfolding
spinnaker of the father’s cartwheeling sun
if I let go of the kite, will I lose the summer raised
forever
and far gone summer lost its star-awkward bruise, you
when the world poked through a brighter, summer day
a pineapple caught on a tongue when the sky caught them both
in a word the whine and wrap dragged them higher into the frozen
bony night as birds flocked as if a need from a growing fright
when we were wing and warrior and combustion
and let go as the sky like a noose pulled us tight
and taught forever
