sun wing 2

the longer you stay away,

the harder it is to return.


six degrees of separation

become six millenniums.


you take the long way home—

kicking up sun dust,


rust on your wheels, the

spindle of your spine


still turning to look back,

to keep weaving. your solar


plexus is on a slow-burn, couched

between your procured wings;


every thing is buzzing

on auto pilot


as you bring your ship in

through the streaks of dusk:


as you follow the yellow slick string

tying together this runway to infinity.


the leaving and the coming back is

a call and response you cannot


refuse—like falling on a cusped bruise:

you feel your flight from the inside out,


sitting cross-legged in your own sky, playing

pick-up-sticks with the long tender lines of light.

sun wing 1

Photographs by Joe Occhuzzio


physics of you

all the places i have lived

all the places i have loved


tiny shard shells felling away

a metronome stripping on an


emergency stretcher of time

tandem tending to the


meetings of

the minds


rewinding the cusp

of the fallen


reshielding the wall

of the forgotten


to cultivate this

cursive flight of the


curlew; these astounded

physics of you.