A Tool in the Sky

To fully appreciate the bravura of the ending to this poem, you need to recall the beginning. “a brief history of time” concludes “the mezzaluna rocking” section of Heartland by Michele Leggott.

the book slips past my ears
on the flight over three hours
following the sun folding up corporeal
reality and I’m not finished as we begin
the descent into earlier tray tables
secured seats in the upright position not
a molecule lighter or less perturbed
than the cold air under our wings we step
back in the same day and forget an hour
the spooling voice entered and can’t leave
or leaves many times without us going on
split or spilt from departures arrivals terminals
the book slips by and I am not done


[…] the mezzaluna
rocking out along the bay or through the fine crust
pulled from the hot oven the mezzaluna of doubt
of two hands of cutting it fine as the doors close
the bell clangs and the drunk begins his hyena call
to the black universe then charms a small boy in a paper hat
it’s my birthday too very same as yours same as you I am
going to see my friends all my friends tonight seven days
of crossings going off like steel drums again and again
we say goodbye and walk into Hill of Content where the book
opens itself to the very page I was on real or imagined
starting over on the way back against the turn of the earth

We are not done. We are undone.

The half moon in the heavens. The half moon in the hand.


And so for day 2069

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