I Insist I am not Dead

My best efforts to exceed

the frame of my flesh

have led only to

renewed efforts.

Daily, God’s slow heavy hand swings closer

to brush me off his arm like a stinging fly,

and I am called, in humility, to be thankful

he doesn’t choose to crush me instead.

We are living well here, in spite of everything.

For as long as we can we will try to live forever.

Land Again

Coming down quickly

we all experience descent disorientation,

fighting to keep our feet firmly beneath us

as we explode to land again.

We will limp uncertainly for weeks,

wasting little time to re-immerse ourselves

in conversations we left behind when we first

turned expectant eyes toward flight.

How long is it we’ve known each other now?

The years coil around us so that when

god splits open our souls he can gauge our age,

reading striations like the rings in older trees;

we have to be laid bare for judgment.

I expect that we will linger

for long days in the sun,

bolted upright to rocks to provide

sustenance for eagles.

They will carry our names back to their children,

and when they unhinge great golden beaks

our memory will rain out into eager mouths

so that they might carry us in flight again

to all the lightless desolate regions of the earth.

© 2010 by Joe Zoccoli