Faith

Longlegged boys leapt from rooftop to rooftop.
The dark between their legs widening as they spread.

We never questioned the quiet behind the house until the boys made
their legs scissors and cut it. What we thought could not be cut,
as it was made from the stones on the floor of the alley below,
the eaves above the garages that slanted, so standing there was an
art
and lifting off
a greater one.

They could have fallen, but they would not have fallen.
Gifted by heaven to lose gravity in the dark, gain grace
enough to make girls weep to follow, all of us, even looking up,
born anew in midair, no longer grievingly human, mute.
The wind in our mouths. each breath big, sweetened with amazement.

Once black boys, innocent as angels, leapt from rooftop to rooftop.
Full splits on a floor of dark air, each time a happy ending.
Isn't that enough?


From AND ALL THESE ROADS BE LUMINOUS (Northwestern University Press, 1998)