Grave of Gravity

  Thou that liftest me up from the gates of death

  We’ve all wished for it,

  to snap the bands of

  law and burden and

  soar, flit, flutter—

  fly.

  After gravity is put

  to rest and the dirt

  and Earth are hefted

  over its grave, you

  catapult

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  out of the body,

  over the table or

  car or wreckage,

  and begin to

  shoot

  into a weightless

  travel, like rockets

  or missiles or bullets

  or hero on a mission,

  bursting

  through seas of wheat

  and grains of sea,

  two horizons rushing

  to meet like

  traveling

  waves, the sun

  a glistening kiss

  that lingers over

  rough and smooth waves,

  flying

  to the next place.

  To the bright place.To the place my mother

  dwells. Father. Sister—

  soaring

  to meet me in an expanse

  that is neither dark nor cold.