SONG FOUR: SEPARATION

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SONG FOUR:

SEPARATION

Today I wake and know that time has come

Something out there and I must see its face

            beneath the chilled floor of this living place

                        stretched deep, narrowing to a blunt-end point

                                    sunken cellar, hollowed out muddy earth

As a child, I feared this earth-tapered vault

            and would not go down without someone else

                        with trap door open to let in the light

            trembling all the while until I emerged

Today, I must go in to bring it out

            some dark matter waits there for me, I’m sure

            some red and black force that will not surface

                        cannot reveal itself by law or choice

So, I must go in to harrow it out

            must dive in headfirst, submerge completely

            not dally scraping dirt along the edge

                        pull the door closed behind me, blocked by thin

                        wedge to be my latchkey when I ascend

I rush to the cellar straight from my bed

            long before all others wake to the day

                        and see what I’m doing – try to stop me

                        from going where I must go – now – today

The heavy slant door smells moist and mildewed

            as I slide the bolt back and lift the boards

            I breach the gloom, then jam a wooden wedge

            to allow a fingerhold but no light

Inside the muffled chamber all round dark

            my eyes strain for shape-shreds but none appear    

my scraping feet the only outer sound

Inside, my heart pounds blood against my ears

A clear way between shelves but narrow too

            I feel my way stooping toward the rear

            where the shelving stops and damp earth begins

            Here I sit, tuck my knees to chest – listen

My heartbeat thumping loud against my ears

Breath rustling in and out my nose hairs

I’m determined to hear the sound of what

            makes this hole its home – it must be right here!

At once fear roars up my throat hard and hot

            and sticks there in a choking lump swabbing

            all the wetness from my mouth – afraid, I

            try to quiet heart and breath to listen 

I am desperate to silence all my noise

Press breath down and quiet so I can hear

I assure myself that I can leave here

            when I choose – nothing stops me from going

now or later – but I want to get out 

            suddenly and be in the calming light

At last, I simply stay    and breathe      and wait

I recall and count the reasons I’m here

            One – I need a place where I am alone

                        away from shouting, noise and endless chores

When the others find me sitting, they make

                                    work for me as if thinking’s not allowed

                                    as if working takes dangerous thoughts away

            Two – when I ask why I must do as told

                        why what I am and do is not enough,

                        they say “forget it” or “strange question” and

                        I get no answers there – that’s why I’ve come

            Three – I don’t fit in – everyone says so

                        No one asks what I like or even care

                                    but I can’t help but ask for I must know

                                    must surface out of endless confusion      

                                    make sense of messages thatcome in dreams

I shake myself, relax, breathe in slowly

            Soon I am somewhat sure no cold corpse arms

                        will grab me and drag me deep under earth

            Whatever lives here doesn’t want to harm me

                        or I would already be dead or worse

Forcing relaxation, I notice thoughts

            tumbling over one another bumping

            interrupting until my attention

            bursts into fragments with no direction

            rather blocking logic and intention

Such stupidity’s annoying and must

            be tamed, so I view all this commotion

            like the confusing noises of people

                        I’m forced to listen to, so like with them

                        I tune my ears and muffle to a thrum

                        inside, the noises quiet to a hum

As sounds fade and retreat, I listen hard

            and the clatter dries up like a puddle

            then a high-pitched silvery note – fiery thin – 

like an airborne beacon that does not change

“What is that?” I ask listening close again

It sounds familiar like I should know it

I press my palms tight on my ears but this

            makes the note louder and I am surprised

            to find the sound not out there but within!

I turn fore and aft to find any change

            but all directions sound back just the same

            as I try standing, sitting, and lying down

The tone holds constantly one silver sound

I feel safe when listening to the silver

            as if it has always been here – not just

            now, but with me from before I came here

I could listen for hours to this sound core

            to this long, grace-note ring, sending steady

            clear, star-glazed radiance ringing down through me

I think this sound envelops what I want

            to know, so I listen harder and try

            to follow wherever the note goes

Now the pitch steadies deeper, dissolving

            thoughts into patterns that filter the crazy

            and ring truly to show me right and strong

Now rises an uncommon composition . . .

            I need to know too much that is not here

            Others can’t know and hide under laughter

            They point at me when they cannot explain

            I am different and that will not change

I sit up straight and frightened at this rush

            of these things I have known but could not say

            all the hints and hunches I’ve pushed away

Words tumbling out of darkness all at once

one silver resonance of certainty

every word a precious actuality

The note gathers up pieces and presses

            them into hard white stones and yellow pearls

            all hung glittering from unfurled white sails 

I glimpse what I quake to think I cannot 

do at all, and must be done all at once

This makes me dizzy and I start to sweat

Suddenly I need air – breeze on my face

I jump up from crouching and hit my head

            stumbling, crashing into shelves and toppling

            pots, bags tumbling, confusion in the dark

I lose my way and for a panic-stricken

            moment I cannot tell the one way out

            so, I feel my way along the damp walls

            until I reach the taller end and touch

            redeeming door where my body falls, rights

Relieved, I push but it does not open

It is stuck or blocked or something heavy

lies across it – in a panic, I push

with all my strength and one thin blink of light

an inch slips through the crack – the door crashes

a thud of darkness, my eyes still flaring

I am shut in – trapped – helpless – no one knows

A damp breath prickles cold all down my back

I am terrified, frozen, stunned, can’t move

I am dead – buried alive! – in my grave!

A whimper escapes in spite of myself

I clamp my mouth before I cry for help

I will not cry or scream and have them laugh

I will die here first and then they will find

            my bones poking through my rotting flesh and . . . 

“Stop it!” I warn myself out loud – me with

panicked baby voice about to burst out

loud and whining at this slightest setback

I slump down in a squat to think and fret

I could wait until I am missed – but then

            who would know where to look, and I won’t shout

            or shriek or yell, not even to get out

I could stay until someone else comes in

for any reason.  How long will that be? 

No, I must rescue myself. Yes, that’s it!

            I must make a move now – figure it out

I start hurried groping in total, perfect dark

I feel poles, sticks, boards, baskets and more pots

some of which I might use to pry the door –  

brace it up – make a space to slide me through 

I carry a heavy stick to the door 

doubling my strength, I push against the weight

enough to slide the stick in between and

persist, pace by pace, to build my path up

toward the light and when I’ve opened a gap

I carefully squeeze my whole body out – 

I’m through! I stand wet, gasping, I see it – 

            a shape lying beside the cellar door 

where someone has dropped a huge, heavy bag

of potatoes by carelessness or with

intent to hurt me, I can’t be certain

But it does not matter.  I have rescued 

myself, released myself, set myself free

            and if I can do this, I think, then I

            can leave this place – these people – someday soon

They cannot hold me here against my will

I do not know how I will leave or when

but I will           Yes, I will          I will 

            ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No one asks where I have been all these hours

No one notices any change in me

They don’t see that I am already gone

            packed up, no goodbyes, no tears – on the run

That night . . .

I sail toward the ones already at sea

breaking through freezing spray and shuddering waves

my diamond prow splits ice – trails jagged shards

I can hear the shanties on the shrill wind

                        I am coming         I am coming

                        though my wings are pinned

I am headed home – out of nearby dark

My tribe will know me by our common mark

My bow is pointed toward my own country

white wings tacking toward pale eternity

A single journey – a voyage of One

Four thousand years of sailing the sea way

Landless gull contouring the dusky waves

simply and truly exploring toward home

I think back on shores of driftwood and stone

beaten by clear ice and salt-crusted waves

under heaving heart of white-breasted foam

and the graceful ribbed flesh of wild ocean

When I wake, sadness is wider between

who I am and that bright sailor to be

A wider gap between the steps I walk

and the others I want to leave behind.

I say little to them that is not shouts

They favor me with the same, and I just

dream and wait, and brew my future alone

by the dark-found compass I’ll always trust

In the bright days after summer I sit

before the next teacher – just another

in a long line of them, droning and dull.

I drum my fingers, hang my head, look out

and away – far away – from him and books,

tune my ears to muffle his sound drowning  

this old puddle drying up from white-hot

silver-wire tone – this constant colored dance

my faithful note of hidden consonance

Most others around me sit up straight like

the blunt and obedient ones they are

Some slant their disapproving looks toward me

Most do not notice, do not care, or worse

Only one person holds my attention

            and we exchange glances full of meaning

            but speak only with signifying eyes

sharing a secret that is understood

When we are let out like so many sheep

            I approach the stranger and give my name

“Jani’s mine. J-A-N-I, like Jan plus

             an eye.” underscored with index fingers

            pointing to each green eye, and going on,

  “I’m glad you are here.  You aren’t like the rest.”

  “Two months we’ve been here because we had to

 leave the last place – something my brother did

           is all I know.  This town is nothing like

                        where I’m from – even its name is real dumb.

  Who’d think of naming a place Sparrowtown?”

“I know,” I say. “Imagine living here

            since you were born – like me – trapped, chained and stuck

                        with idiots pointing and making fun

            You are lucky to be from somewhere else.  

We laugh together and avoid 

the others playing with sticks and red balls

“What a bunch of kids they are,” I turn.

“Look at them,” I pronounce. “We’ve got to find

            better places to spend our time, all right.”  

 “I know!” says Jani stamping a foot hard.

“Since most the time we’re with this old teacher,

            let’s go and tell him how boring he is.”

“We can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

I think hard ‘why not’ but I come up dry

So, shrugging my shoulders I say, “Let’s try.”

Silently I’m disappointed if this

is the best Jani can do.  I’d started 

to think here might be someone like me who 

could show the path to get away.  But I 

say nothing because what Jani has said 

is better than the nothing in my head 

We find the old teacher sitting reading

a book under a tree.  He looks up when

we wander toward him – Jani first – then me

“Hello there,” he says, but doesn’t get up

Yet he closes his yellow-paged book and

waits for us to say more – to say why we

are here standing around scuffling our feet.

Suddenly, Jani puts hands on hips, glares

and says, “You’re boring.  We thought you should know!”

Jani’s voice makes me brave and I pipe up,

“Yeah!  You’re boring.  You’ve blathered enough!”

The teacher nods, puts a finger to lips,

tilts his head right, eyes slide up and to left.

He rises slowly.  We take two steps back.

More silence. What are we trying to prove?

We three stand there, no one making a move

The teacher strokes his chin, looks down on us

“Yes.  I wondered when you two would notice

I’ve been waiting for you since the year’s start

Good!  Now what do you think we three should do?”

Jani and I look at each other, stunned

This is not at all what we expected

but then we hadn’t really thought this out.

I poke Jani signaling something needs

to be said and with eyebrows say I’m not

the smarter one whose idea this is

“We’re different, you know,” Jani says at last.

“We are not like the others,” I chime in.

“I saw that right away,” says the teacher.

(He is serious, I begin to think.)

“We’re not interested in playing with balls,”

says Jani puffing up and standing tall

and straight and shifting shoulders left and right

“What interests you?” the smiling teacher asks.

Jani looks at me.  The hot coal’s been passed.

The sound in my head flares up in a blast

              That means something’s here, I say to myself

“We want something different from what they get.”

Jani looks at me with a furrowed brow.

The teacher nods, “Of course! You are clearly 

different from every student who is here!”

This makes me blink, rapidly shake my head

but I won’t show I don’t know what he’s said.

“Yes. Right.” I tender. “But can you give it?”

Jani stares – drops out of the verbal joust.

The teacher purses his lips, nods twice, looks

straight at me and says, “Yes, but not in books.”

Now as if shaken out of a deep sleep

            the teacher remarks, “Look what time it is!”

He turns and strides long, clapping his big hands

            a slow rhythm that gathers others in

            from their balls and games, and Jani and I

bring up the rear most certainly chagrined

Jani hisses in my ear, “What’s all this!?”

“What stupid game have you got us into?”

            I return the sizzle, pushing Jani

“You’re the one who started it, oh great brain!”

“But there’s no telling what he will do now!”

“That is the point.  Or are you backing out?”

“You can count on me. I’m all in with you.

You are so right; we can’t know what he’ll do.”

But I’ve decided to see where this goes.

Back in the room, all the sheep take their seats

            but Jani and I stand right at the back

The teacher ignores us – pulls out a book

Things we study seem the same as before

but now something is changed.  Something is more.

I can’t help listening and watching for clues.  

Jani droops, head on chest – pretends to snooze

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Three days go by much the same.  Finally, I

cannot stand it and it is clear to me

that the teacher and Jani are content

to ignore us talking under the tree.

I tell Jani what I intend to do.

“Go ahead.  Suit yourself.  Pick that old bone.”

Jani’s parting words as I’m left alone

At the third day’s end all are gone but me

and the sphinxlike teacher straightening up

He shuffles papers – doesn’t look my way

I make a noise in my throat to signal

I’m here but I get no response or talk

Finally, I can stand it no more and I

scuffle toward the tall old man who now is

humming a quick tune to himself.  I must

stand staring right at his chest before he

sees me and then he simply looks and waits.

Well, I’m here now and have to say something!

This old man will wait until I am dead!

I scrunch my shoulders – give my forehead lines

I put my left hand on my hip and look

            up straight into his glittering gray eyes

“You said you could,” is all I’ll say, hoping

in this way to force him to speak out first

“Could what?” he says. His eyebrows rise an inch

“Give us something different,” I coolly say.

“Oh yes! But of course! But who is this ‘us’?

 I see only you.  Where is your young friend?”

He shades his eyes – looks over empty room

“It is only me,” I say quietly

He pauses, exhales slowly, says, “I see.”

More silence – I begin to feel a fool

I turn and make to run away, but his

big hand holds my shoulder and whirls me round.

“Very well.  Let’s begin! You looked. You found.”

My teacher drops to the floor, sits cross-legged

and suddenly, towering over him this

feels all wrong – not my place but my head hums

in my ears, so he has to be the one

This keeps me from startling like a scared dog

I slowly sink down silent facing him

I hear chirping rustling birds in green vines

outside open windows there is no time

The teacher cocks his head inquiringly

as if to ask the time or direction

I see he will wait to dust for me to

be the first to speak, so like the one-note

peeping sparrows clinging to the trembling

vines, I whisper, “Something different you said.”

“Oh that! Of course! Of course!” he cheeps right back

Now in a deep and serious voice, “but that

depends on the difference you are wanting.”

Anger flares up in me. I flush and glower

            Old frustrating heap of locked up secrets!

            I want to beat his chest with hot, balled fists

                        and demand he tell what he’s hiding

            Just now thesound presses heavy inside

            my thoughts, shifting my intention to more

                        cunning ways.  I will drag this old man out

                        if it takes all night and another day!

I breathe in long and exhale. “You said you

could see that we are different.  How is that?”

My seeming simple question undams floods

of rushing words banked by two wild gesturing

hands that shape and flutter their meaning so 

I am not sure whether to follow them

or listen, and settle in to try both

“Well, let us speak not of two but just you

since your good friend isn’t presently here.”

I make a point not to speak of others

when they are not here.  It seems low stealing

of information that is owed elsewhere.

So, as you ask, I will speak of only 

one – that is, of you – the one sitting close.

I can see your treasures bright as any

gold hoard piled high in a sly dragon’s cave.”

A dream-scent of a dark green cave wafts just

                        under my nose.  Owl-like I blink both eyes.

            He doesn’t notice as he rumbles on

“You are one who’s so different that even

a blind one can see your light, feel your heat.

Such ones as you make others ill at ease

in their compared darkness, but you mistake

your light for a kind of dimness.  You try

to hide yourself, but like a blazing lamp

inside a slatted box your beams slant out

and paint the darkness.  Such is your quickening.”

I almost catch his meaning. At least I

            feel its good intention, but I’m puzzled

He sees my knitted brow and stops his talk.

Silently, he nods, shakes his head, and says,

“My friend, forgive me. I’ll contain myself.

You see your good light dazzles me as well

You were born of stars and to the stars you

belong, but between, you find yourself here.”

He pauses, looks out the vine-hung window.

“Do you hear that sparrow singing out there?”

“I hear many chirps. There is more than one.”

            But silently I wonder how he knows

            that I’ve been listening to these noisy birds

“Yes, you are right, but listen closer now.

Do you hear a difference among those birds?”

I close my eyes and listen hard like when

I focus on my inside sound and this

helps me hear each bird amid the many

Soon I hear one who though farther off is

chirping madly as if alarmed or with

something most urgent to communicate

.

“Yes, now I hear one making more noise by

herself.  She may see some danger they don’t.”

“Perhaps,” he says, “or perhaps he sounds for

other reasons.  It matters that you hear.”

“So what?” I say and toss my head as if

dismissing and move on to bigger things.

“Your voice is like that white-throated sparrow.”

He leans close to speak the unfurled secret.

“Your need to sing is much stronger because

you see so much.  You will never settle

for anything but the wide world and its

potent song and you will go to any

length to hear it.  Just so, you are different.”

Something in me feels his meaning because

            such words have come before in nightshade dreams.

            where I’ve mapped familiar sea and star ways

The odd teacher speaks more, leaning closely

“Like these sparrows we all share some outward

common feathers.  But in our sparrow-hearts

lie the difference a kindred bird can see.

Most people are content among the vines 

and branches close to home, but you are not . . .”

“I hate this place!  I hate all these people!”

My voice roars out before I can stop it

but I’m not sorry now the words are out

“It is quite natural for your time.  Some day

you may remember us with something more.”

“I have to leave!”         “You will soon enough.”

“Do you think so?”      “You can count on it.”

“But when?”                “The instant you’re truly ready.”

“When will that be?”   “You will know for certain.

            Now excuse me.  I’ve lessons to prepare.”

I am relieved that this is ending for

tears are welling up and my throat is thick.

“We can meet for talks often, if you like,”

he says as we rise.  I nod twice sharply.

“For now, remember who you are and that

all is right with you.  When people say things

otherwise, it’s what’s in them, not in you.”

 “Thanks.” I can barely whisper and turn and 

hurry out the door in early twilight

My feet make light upon the path away

I am thinking hard of stars and small birds

Of the dragon words he spoke, one on one

            to me, not Jani, and unexpected

            leaning against an oak tree glowering

Jani waiting, looking down, kicking dirt

I call out and Jani strides to meet me.

“I’m surprised you waited for me, Jani.”

“Oh, there was nothing else to do right now.”

            (Fortunately, seeing Jani stand there

                        stanches my tears – dried deep behind my eyes

            If Jani notices anything wrong

                        no words rise to name it or question me)

“Well, what’d the old man have to say to you?”

Jani asks as we walk toward the edge of town

“He talked of birds!” I say with mocking tone

(I do not want to talk of sparrows’ hearts)

“Birds!?” Jani says scrunching nose, crumpling brow

“Yeah. That’s all,” I say and Jani drops it

We grab at weeds along the Outskirts Road.

I assume – but do not ask – that Jani

is not expected home – the same as me

I decide to press again on Jani

“So, why did you wait for me by that tree?”

“I thought we could do something fun – maybe—

if there is such a thing in this dull town.”

“Just what did you have in mind for us now?”

“Well, I like to climb. Where I come from, we

had high bridges over rivers, and hills

to sit up high and look for miles and miles.”

I think hard because Chickopee is laid  

out flat and boring as a tabletop

            (Somehow pleasing Jani feels important)

“There is a lookout tower over there,” 

I say then quickly add, “but we are not 

supposed to climb up on it anyway.”

“Just the thing,” clucks Jani, eyes brightening now

“I’ve climbed it once or twice,” I lie to hide

the fear prickling up my neck.  “But someone’s

there now until sunset, Then it’s too late.”

            (I’m sure I’ve wiggled out of Jani’s trap.)

“We can wait and, in the meantime, we can

make a kite and tail to fly from the top.”

“A kite? That’s something a kid would play with.”

“You leave that part to me. Come on! Let’s go!”

Jani turns back toward town trotting briskly

            (I might as well see what happens I think

            as I lope stride-for-stride beside my friend)

As we enter village roads, Jani looks

from side to side conjuring the kite parts

Now stealthy as a stalking cat, Jani

bends forward, runs ‘longside a windowed house

I follow slinking.  At the back, some clothes

and rags are strung out on a line to dry

In a flash, Jani pulls a three-inch knife

and with the quickness of a practiced thief

slits the line – wads the bundle under arm.

With less sound than riffled leaves, we’re away

I can’t believe what we have done in less

time than I could even think, and we’re away

from the thieving place, I stare slack-jawed, shocked

at Jani’s determined, untroubled face

A mile out, slowing to a trotting gait

I’m still dumbfounded at what we have done

“What’s the matter?” Jani asks sincerely

“Oh nothing!” I say sarcastically. “ ‘Cept 

we’ve just transformed into thieves and I think

my father knows the people in that house.”

“First time, eh?” Jani’s grin slides through thin lips.

“Well . . . yes,” I say for that’s the truth of it

“Don’t worry,” says the thief, “You’ll get used to it.”

“If you say so,” I taunt and sneer. “But tell

me how can we make a kite out of that!?”

“Watch and learn,” crows the experienced teacher

We leave the path and hide behind a shed

Jani wields the knife and with expert strokes

slashes the cloth into long ragged strips

The sound of splitting shirts tears at my heart

I say nothing of my thoughts: My father

could have worn that shirt.  A poorer friend used

those rags.  The waste of it sours my gut, but

I only think and watch and sit with this.

Jani fashions an ugly kite complete

with crippled tail.  “Won’t ever fly, “I warn 

“Maybe not,” says this sometimes-honest thief

“Let’s go see.  Where’s this dangerous tower of yours?”

“That way,” I say pointing west where the sun’s

already half behind the trees.  “Come on.”

Now I’m the one who shepherds us onward

My leaden feet keep moving toward what’s next

Soon we stand beneath the wooden tower

No one else there in the deepening darkness

“Since you’ve climbed before, you go ahead up.”

“All right,” and I grab the wobbly ladder

My hands sweat and slip and my heart races

Half-way up my knees start to shake.  I stop.

Below, I see Jani has the harder 

climb lugging line and tattered cloth – kite tail

trailing down. This doesn’t seem to trouble

Jani whose gleaming eyes spark above white

teeth clamped down and holding the three-inch knife

We reach the platform at the top where night’s

cool breeze plays stronger than on ground – my breath

short, and rapid – my ears on stems for shouts

from below, but I can’t hear over my 

panting and my heart pounding in my ears.

Jani, on the other hand, appears fresh

 – exhilarated – hair tousled wildly

The energy’s contagious and my crime

takes on smaller shape as I let fall free

my guilt, a small dead bird, from this tower

“Hey, this is great!” chirps Jani.  “Almost like

the view back home.  Well . . . add some mountains and

a bigger river running down valleys . . .

well . . . it is not the same but I don’t care!”

I am silent at the expanse of land

sprawling out around.  I have never seen

half so much before and it makes me see

that I’ve been right about this town of mine

It’s even smaller than I thought it was

the lights pale sputtering flames ending day

the house I live in somewhere in that gray

            Roads invisible –  sound all gone away

How can I live constrained to this tight place?

wind skittering through leaving crumbled yellow

dust, when I belong on the deep green sea?

I feel sticky tongues darting out to catch

me – the bug– sliding down a long dark throat . . .

“Help me!” Jani says, untangling cloth and line.”

I’ve lost interest in the kite at this point

but I’m not going anywhere alone

and Jani is shrouded like a mummy 

in the kite commotion so I bend down 

sit on the platform and unwind the toy

Soon we have it straight and it’s time to sail

We pay out line across the wood railing

kite wings nothing like white sails in my dreams

this kid’s toy a poor tattered used up thing

that flops and gasps like a gutted fish

“Come on, Jani.  Grow up. There’s more than this.”

“Just wait! Just wait. the breeze is coming up!”

Jani wags the dangling kite – a long-shed

snake’s skin, a shade of life but after death

“Come on.  Let’s go.”  I start down the steep steps

“Wait! There it goes!” Jani waggles harder

so hard the streamers catch the tower’s brace

and clutch it like a frightened kid clinging

tightly to his mother’s gray-skirted leg

“Oh shit!” stamps Jani. “Now I’ll have to use

my knife.” I see this is a happy thing

as under the guardrail Jani swings down

clambering catlike, the kite-freer, unafraid

clamps knife between teeth again and grabs out

horizontally making for the brace

“Watch out!” I feel compelled to shout although

a fall now might improve this thieving day

No response from Jani now clinging to

the crossbar and cutting twine – reaching ‘round

to unwrap it – now a high-wire rodent 

Jani hugs the rigid pole and sliding

to the next support as I reach the ground

I look to see if I can help from here

but I am shaking for my own safety

not for Jani, slashing like a banshee

sailor freeing shrouds and sails from off dark

timbers standing tall against rowdy winds

I cannot help but wish I were Jani

so wild, so free – with knife between white teeth

slicing shroudsfrom off the standing rigging

            and I –cowardly grounded down below

Halfway down Jani steps on a crossbar

            a crack – a break – the wooden finger’s rotten

                        and Jani a sudden stone falling fast

                        kite tail in both hands – knife thuds beside me

Jani dangling like a deep-hooked sea fish

                        slamming hard against the upright tower pole

Cold sweat shiver-beads, sliding down my back

            as I – safe and helpless – watch my dangling 

friend who descends again, swift and thrilling

                        fearless insect clasping tower with legs and arms

                        ‘round the steady mast of the wooden pole

I inhale hard as I see disaster

coming, and Jani again but slower

more descending to where I stand waiting

among the tatters of the kite come down

Jani reaches ground breathing hard, sweat-soaked

shirt and bleeding hands that reach down quickly

for the three-inch knife as for a diamond

“That was great!” gasps Jani trembling lower lip

“Yea, why not die today,” I say half envious

“Don’t be a sparrow!” the reply half spit

As we head back into town, thrilled and tired

I want so much to be my daring friend

who climbs dangerous towers and who does not fear

a violent pitch into sudden darkness

who lives wild as if breath will never end