It wasn’t so phenomenal, at first, her ascent,
the tree half dead, some limbs broken,
some not, she focused, she stopped.
She let her hair down, down to her brown bottomed feet,
and slipped a white dress overhead—bare skin bristling as
the wind picked up.
She walked along a limb, leaves falling,
feet in front of feet, eyes closed, arms out:
they bent (the limb
the arms) and swayed (the limb,
the arms, the hips of her body
heavy with the change of seasons).
Below the necks of men craned with held breath
savored before swallowing, silent, fixated on her feet
so light heel toe heel toe.
Bending but not breaking and then her
return to earth. She stood in the uncut grass
as the men circled up silent
eyes oversized waiting for stories of a new God—
God caged in ribs, pouring from pores, pressed
into pocketed pills;
God electricity in the dust, exploding with flowers and the seeds of flowers
God like stardust over the valley,
God: re-author of the twilight.