–Theodore Roethke, “The Waking”

Hovering, humming, the world lives

above all this. Indigenous. Primordial.

Unposted. Are we walking or flying

through fistfuls of color? Listen. The world

is thrumming above all this

inversion of life. The flash

of chiaroscuro lingers on the eyes.

Touch the strumming air. Hovering,

humming, the world moves through wisps

and wings. Waves gather. Moons recede.

All the while music swells above

this lavender ash of what was,

what still could be. Hovering, humming,

we dream of bleached wishes, remember

the whooshing, the echo of everything

lost. Above all this, the world lives.

Hum what you remember. Don’t

look down.