Small Worlds

The moon did not kill me.

It is the distance
between my shadow
and the earth.

Even light
looks temporary
up there.

The oceans wait below
with the patience
of a mother, anciently
watching her sons
make mistake after
mistake.

I remember
the hard flutter of wings
first trying to form
against my shoulders,

feathers loosening
like disciples
losing faith
in the possibility.

But the change
had already entered
my bloodstream.

How small the world feels
once you are outside
of its gravity.

How small
the heart looks
from this distance.

How small
we become
inside our longing.