his
eyes he extends a skin
which grows over the world.
The baby is what must
have fallen, like snow. He resisted,
the way the old man
struggles inside the airy tent
to keep on breathing.
Birth is the fear of death
and the source of an old hope.
Snow is what melts. I distrust
the cycles of water.
The sun has withdrawn itself
and the snow keeps falling,
and something will always be falling.
Donald Hall
DROWNING WITH OTHERS
There are moments a man turns from us
Whom we have all known until now.
Upgathered, we watch him grow,
Unshipping his shoulderbones
Like human, everyday wings
That he has not ever used,
Releasing
his
hair from
his
brain,
A kingfisher's crest, confused
By the God-tilted light of Heaven.
His deep, window-watching smile
Comes closely upon us in waves,
And spreads, and now we are
