Velvet
for my father

All right? you ask. Breath drums in my throat,

my one thought

                        falling

                                    through the narrow planks

that hold us, the yard skewed below.

Lean into the slope, you tell me, and I do.

Nails slip through my buzzing fingers,

clatter into the scaffolding. Sweat slicks my neck,

our hammers lift and slam. Mosquitoes sing.

The shingles, hot black flaps, scrape

like your cheek. You’re near the peak,

leaves swish around your head like feathers.

It’s all afternoon before we climb down.

The shingle stains never wash out of my jeans.

That night, the backyard swing carries me

into the leaves forever. Over and over

I swoop up into them, curtains of green enfold me,

their plush limbs and tunnels swaying,

then I shoot down, tick over the circle of dirt,

and up in a scoop of air, a dazzle.

My one thought to fly is all I need.

That was the day, my arms’ ache and swing,

the flies’ drunk song, your soft look all right?

The body goes weightless with a word of love.

In the dream, everything is touched with velvet,

breath of sun, and green leaves waving.