Jan Bradley

To The Cloud Juggler
i.m. Hart Crane

There is only the shifting of moments
A mind brushed by sparrow wings
You slept on yourself –
On fragments
Unable to pick the arrows from your side
They say; one glance
Could cross the borders of three states
In eyes that upheld some dream untied –
Where time waits

Shadow cuts sleep from the heart –
Cobblestone worn
Swooping in eagle feathers down your back –
Airborne
Hands that seem like wings of butterflies
To touch those hands
That counted nights
You were there falling; and you fell;
Whose leaps commit such blazing lights

Kodaked somewhat out of focus
You drifted,
How many hours you never knew
You were a child,
Like me –
On a loose perch
Leaning from the window
When the train slows down
Fighting with blind fists of nothing

You poured your words into the broken world
With a heart that cast its line in troubled water
To skies impartial, that did not disown you –
Or claim you either
To create what I hold healed,
Original now and pure
There and beyond, my other hand –
On my heart
Is plummet ushered by those tears that start

Relapsing into silence
Wrapping us and lifting us;
Drop us then returned –
Onward without halt, -
Not soon or suddenly
No never to let go
Outside as soon as you could get away
From the company to find
The only rose on the bush in the front yard

Here at the water’s edge
The hands drop memory
Your footsteps
Walking the straight road toward thunder
You left this world hanging in the night
One star, swinging, takes its place alone
And time shall set –
The morning stars adrift

Jan Bradley © 2008