this kind of flying

this kind of flying
is performed 
by the clip-winged 
love bird--
this kind of flying
is caught by
the butterfly
nets of angels--fishing
for our souls
in the clouds--

when i die i want
to leave my body in 
a library--
on a shelf full
of books no one
has checked out for years--
save me there 
in the flyleaf pages--
yellowing
from the faint
hush of sun in the window--

when i couldn't sleep
my father filled a beer
bottle
with stars just for me--
he dismantled constellations--
he taught the moon
to swarm me
like a cloud of gnats--

this type of flying is
achieved slowly 
& then all at once--

this kind of flying 
lifts your bed frame
from the earth--
soars above
a city you've never
been to--
Paris-- San Francisco--
Seattle--
Atlanta--
you mistake the lights for
stars--
mistake the people
for
angels searching for
their wings by
street light--

night rains &
you mistake the rain
for the melting
of the solar system
above you--

above you around you--
this kind of flying 
sold it's wings for
a jar of quarters
to bury 
in the backyard
beneath
the evergreen tree--

this kind of flying
is a kind of falling
a kind of falling faster
& faster 
until 
you hit the water--
land in atlanic ocean 
next to the fragments of
space shuttles before
you 

this kind of flying
tells you to step
out of you body--
leave it
home to sleep

feel the breathe
of wind in the
turn of white pages--
number your hips 
so they know where
to find you--

write the 
index on the back--
they'll find
your dog ear-ed 
pages-- they
know what words you
hold closest to you

they know what words
you keep in 
your father's beer bottles--

teach a word to 
beam & hear it become
a star-- 

smack it's head on 
your lamp like a moth--

turn off the sun--
the moon-- open
your window--
let it fly off
on it's own 
to rhyme in someone
else's body 

this kind of flying
is a kind of falling--
your bed frame losing
its will 
somewhere above
the open ocean--