It’s a cappuccino and buttered croissant
at 30,000 feet; filet mignon and a dry merlot
among Antarctic ice-bergs; a bowl of ice-cream
in one hand and the fingers of the other
pressing against a blizzard at 40 below. It’s a sweet spot
between comfort and death, the sun
on a soap bubble, the creak
of a swing over a river: the daring
to have your bones scattered like silverware
across ocean floors, a comet’s tale
among ceiling stars, and you
stretching to the tender verge
of a kite drawn into evening, the string
in your back humming in the abyss.
As appeared in the The 2009 Art Bards collection, The Art Bar Poetry Series, Toronto.