Sarcophagus

1

Say I was there. I was there.

Only, a little after. Only, near.

Say I saw it. I did see. But not then, now.

Say I couldn’t believe.

Say I couldn’t believe

my eyes—they were a little late, say.

2

What began with a rock

falling, a flutter of a fist-sized piece

striking through the higher air, parting infinity:

as big as a breadbox

or a bookshelf, about the size of this desk

and of equal velocity to a feather:

3

: a wave, a wall, water vapor :

the outside rolls in : blankets as they say

the scene or face : one coast slides under another

Somewhere the object continues

                     in spirit as they say

falling. Begin with this premise :

4

Ascending, and already that word seems

significant: pennies hammered edge-wise

in the grains of a downed fir

across the climbers trail—

what are they like, what do they stand for?

I do as I have done, always: touch them

for good luck, their shining edge.

5

Weekend chainsaws bray in the valley below

the white apron of stone called Suicide.

I climb into view of whatever Recorder

records these clear, conflicting desires:

Toby is climbing with a noose today

as a faith experiment. Legs elvising in fear,

inclined a degree beyond friction.

An Above exists, he tells me, moving up

delicately,

unbreakable as an eggshell.

6

What is solo a single stone, a sol

economy of self a light life (as in lifting)

A lone, as in reason I went to the woods

deliberately to live or to not. Of fears

what need one reason not the need

subtract from oneself one

7

He stood on the boulder rising from the sea

imagining the word whitecap as a mountain in spring.

Is man less capable than a forest of kelp?

If all elements conspire to our delight,

why should water drown its lord?

He stood in the mountain’s mouth, thinking

how alike an avalanche to thunder.

8

The route index attests to divinity: Middle Cathedral, Angel’s Wing.

The route index inclines toward evil: Devil’s Tower, Devil’s Thumb.

Our church is the church of the rock, he would say on Sundays.

It was true: a boulder had rolled through the apse, while the skyline

could be read diachronically as a hymn:

Awake, my soul and with the sun / my precious time misspent / redeem

The collective puzzle in parts, now joining (as in song)

9

It’s a bathtub exclaimed the boy made out of rock

at the grave of the child emperor you sit down

it fills up they shut it and you swim