To keep them all aloft my mind must fall
back to the earth,
and leave my dreams their flight behind.
They say the world is ever unwinding,
the light from that first flash.
And so in a fever, my hands race against
the rainbow arc of fast motion
down beneath my lurching arms.
So many times the cascade unraveled.
So many times the balls collided,
and pinioned back to a chaos
my hands could never hope to reach again.
There is but one way, just one way, to
roll up the river and show it the way back upwards.
Again I start the engine,
I forget myself, and launch my hopes
against the earthly pull of me.
For just a moment the cascade lives,
until a breath, a blink,
brings all back down to the ground of entropy.
Like the ceaseless rock of a cradle,
the balls are launched again after every fall,
until some new babe in me learns to step, and step again,
and then run.
The world descends in a gentile glide,
that graces us with time.
We can purchase life aloft by working down,
and anchoring in firm mantle the wish to fly.
But in those moments when the balls live above,
I just lay back and watch,
the small limbs I birthed climb, and dance, and play.
While I burrow back into the earth,
grateful to have been myself just His own dance,
on this my last day.