Lucy Alexander #35 The Boy/ The Sky

It is slow
all this falling:

from dream in the morning
to haunt the day's telling

and back to dream
as the sun does its dipping

into the inky night's tremble
that matches your eyes

right now in the shadow
and the curl of your lip

matching that stray hair
as a radar for new questions

or your hands like birds
that dip into the horizon's grace

and seem to fall from cloudy nests
to perch on the hard brackets of

the fire escape and join
your new song of height

that chirps i'm here, look, here
to the wind's own breath –

if you fell again would you swoop
musical and light, a feather in the wind

a laugh lasting a morning
all tangled with your sleep thoughts

and the small differences between
what's there and what's imagined

safely to my arms?
And if you did could I really stand to hold you?