The fecund, sweat-drenched summers in upstate New York,
the skin stinging cold of winter,
no wonder you were confused.
The kudzu and bramble of Alabama choked your heart,
the homogeny of Japan kept you inline.
Jump from place to place, from job to job,
be what people want.
But in the west, where the air is light,
you expand with the warmth of the sun,
you fill up, you struggle to stay
on the balls of your feet. Push too hard
off the ground and you’ll be grasping
at tree branches to keep you
from floating slowly out over the Pacific.
Push too hard and you’re in danger
of flying, in danger of swimming
through the blue, in danger
of getting off this tiny world
and twirling, swirling, spinning among the stars.