it looms below me
on the other end of the tether.
like me
it should be falling
blood soaking into the sidewalk
on a dark Dorchester street.
that night
I saw your hair shining
in the April moonlight
suspended above the river
between Kendall and Charles.
the tether slackens
and floats like a dream
the sun rising
every ninety minutes.
beneath me
a storm is raging
in a silent swirl.
I cannot
and will not
let go.
Paul David Mena
15 April, 1997
Boston, MA
