I swung into the past, a bright weight worked loose
from its pendulum, soared over swamp and steam
of eternal summer, only to see my own boy-self
playing at death's edge, wanted to shout
but kept sailing out farther and higher
above clean mountain snow, and one tense
shaggy goat running, leaping from rock
to ledge, trailing the spume of its own
white breath, as I swept on, arcing down
a perfect, icy blue, whole miles unfolding,
the bluest emptiness, just blue, on blue, on blue

ISBN 1-882983-28-9
42 pages/$6