Against the Tide

Gravity pulled the book
to the floor. Even words
are bound by laws; the teeth
of adjectives and nouns
biting down on paper.

To burn a word, a branding
on the heart, this word defies
erasure, floats on blood,
knows no up-or-down or trips
or falls. Is it our fault

that love will kill us; have
you seen a dead bird fly?

With ink, we write the feathers
of the wing: a mountain top,
a steel-blue sky, a cloud to pierce,
a draft to climb and dive,
a moment when the journey down

turns against the tide.