This is the point
where I see you standing on tiptoes
leaning far over the hoary river
thundering past.
In my mind I see
your eyes tight closed,
conjuring up your life
as it leaves your hand and spins.
You spin it high as cloud
and watch it go
winking like a coin
in the gun-metal air.
It goes climbing, climbing
slicing the river’s shadow
and the ribbon is flying out behind
like the tail of a kite.
And I do not see it stop
or where or if it comes to rest
just your hand
held out in front of you
as if still connected
by some fierce, yet gentle
unbroken thread.
