To land in a story whose end I do not know—
as if we ever saw to any end:
I try to keep my balance, high and low.

The sliver of this moon, discreet and new—
Waxing? Waning? I forget. They blend
in a sky whose limits we don’t know.

Out of the silk and velvet bedroom now
to jagged crevices, uneven land
I stagger, lurching between high and low.

One foot. The other. Careful where I go.
Where am I going? I cannot pretend
to map this new terrain. Nor do I know

just what meanders led me here to you,
oasis or mirage. Beloved friend,
a shadow looms. Now something’s swooping low,

a storm of wings exploding in the blue.
Light is pouring through a mortal wound.
I am afraid to see. I want to know.
I clutch at uprights, reeling, high and low.