The Himalayan legend says there are beautiful white birds that live completely in flight. They are born in the air, must learn to fly before falling and die also in their flying. Maybe you have been born into such a life with the bottom dropping out. Maybe gravity is claiming you and you feel ghost-scripted.
The Snow Leopard Mother
The snow leopard mother runs straight
down the mountain.
Elk cliff. Blizzard.
into the night.
Her silence and wild
falling is a compass
of hunger and memory. Breath
prints on the carried-away body.
This is how it goes so far away
from our ripening grapes and lime,
coyote eyes rimming the canyon.
we paddle out in our ice boat
headed toward no future at last.
O tired song of what we thought,
stillness crouches like a prow.
We break the ice gently forward.
If I want to cling to anything
then this quiet of being the last
to know about our lives.