Face the yawning ink-black maw
And fall, 'thout fear, by night surrounded.
For what soaring liberty to be free
from hoary envy of those feet grounded,
smothered to dirt by jealous gravity.
With eyes unclouded see with awe:
Trembling, laden shackled souls;
Feet made heavy, damp and sticky;
Loads borne on threadbare soles.
Malaise, gray sleep, creeps
along once-seeking eyes made quiet,
dulled by tepid time. That now,
today's flashes, hot and bright
are hateful, seismic. silent . . . gone.
Freedom more to those whose eye
turns forward, knowing back-glances each are tethers.
Those who stare to pitch dark's throat,
hushing the rush of wind's feathers,
those find joy where unknowns lie.
Descent, down-going, snuffing fright,
skips across our widest moat.
Here at last fall turns to flight,
Then can burden be made light
