Friday Poem

God's Vaulter

rocks at the top pole
raised recites mantras of blue
memory on fingered glass counting
steps & the wet wind spits gravel
poised where each rock knows his name where
each check mark paints speed &
looks at the crazed wing sky bleeding
black tape over bamboo &
remembers ground time he wrapped
ethered arms around the moon & just
wrestled with her flannel & booze
breath smelling like no one's mom
& he runaway boy clicks sharp spikes
over hard cement with anger &
joy with clear eye on shining crossbar
striding with hope & grace &
with smooth hips & broad bone
of genius running with proud
heels erect & holy

by Jim Bell
from Crossing the Bar
Slate Roof Publishing Cooperative, 2005