Now Float Me Down

(for Joye)

Now float me down from that high town, my love;
For we are born to sorrow, men have said,
And cannot travel where the angels rove;
Now float me down to ground where men have bled.

There, heartache cannot thunder through our skin;
We’re drenched to magic, drunken out of time;
The hours dance like refugees between
Our arms; the cool moon’s hanging like a dime.

Here, where we’re waked by sudden storms of bombs,
The infant’s world is strangled with a groan;
Death, perched on crutches, pesters us for alms.
O, do not rush me here, now float me down….

The ghosts of many gunners chafe the ground
Where we dance heart to heart without a sound

Gary Corseri has published/posted poems, articles and stories at Dissident Voice, The Greanville Post, Uncommon Thought Journal, CounterPunch, Countercurrents, Transcend Media Service, Veterans News Now, The New York Times, Village Voice, Redbook Magazine, Common Dreams, and hundreds of other worldwide venues. His dramas have been produced on PBS-Atlanta and elsewhere, and he published novels, poetry collections, and a literary anthology (edited), Manifestations. He has taught in US and Japanese universities and in US prisons and public schools. He has performed his work at the Carter Presidential Library and Museum. Gary can be reached at gary_corseri@comcast.net. Read other articles by Gary.