Earthbound, then unbound to where angels love secrets,
their whispers draped lightly over clouds
stuffed with questions.
Up here time loses its past but also its future.
Below the world is spread thick with the colors
of everything, of nothing.
Nothing is new, everything is new. You must know
the players and translate
their languages.
I have trouble accepting the way things are.
Only those who do not know
offer suggestions.
See this blanket made of dreams and fantasies?
It’s too heavy to pull over my eyes.
But that’s all right. I can talk like this, speculate
about fire and stars and gravity.
I like artists but worry when they confront reality.
You keep telling me I’m crazy but that’s how I cope.
In any event, thanks, Charles. Charles Wright,
for your poems and how they light the way.



Donald Everett Axinn
From Change as a Curved Equation

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