translucent, I think

Up in a tree, maybe a silly place
for me to be at twenty three,
to see how the air gets thin.

The air does not. Wonderful how science will lead you
inevitably into the rediscovery of some forsaken childhood tendancy.

Back then I went to climb
closer to God, I told people.
Really I went to stick my head in the spinning stratosphere
and get a view of all the kingdoms
of the earth and their glory, namely the cul-de-sacs,
alley ways and small patches of field still left undeveloped
that I ruled on my bicycle as a kid.

Up in a tree for scientific reasons, now I tell people.
Really I just feel a little far away from God, maybe.
I go to think things through, find self
acceptance or whatever
magic the clouds have to hang so delicately
alone
so high it hurts the neck to watch.

Up in a tree for the pit of the stomach pain in me:
a pair of shoes with their laces tied all up in knots.
I mean lots and lots of knots like
the game I used to play with my dad’s shoes to see
if he could always untie everything.

If only every exasperation, every at a loss,
could be cut off
without losing what might actually be hurting for good reasons
just not heard by anyone yet.

I sit alone in rooms. I go on walks. I let words get carried away
on adventurous tarings out through brush and rock to see what they say
from inside me. Now I even climb trees again to hear if the hurting
will use it's voice if I manage to go with him to the right hideaway
or high enough up over everyone else's daily business.

I have tried to be as translucent, I think,
as cirrus. But as for the clouds, they
can not just simply receive me either.