Many nights it held us aloft.
We knew each other’s weight as surely
as we knew each other’s lightness.
Hips sway, branches, boats, the surface
of earth sways according to the instruments
and frequency of the hills – everything
made of waves – light, pulse,
low vowels not quite risen to the level
of human speech.
The swirls of the fingertips
seem the track of some old swaying.
It held us many nights aloft.
Took the shape of us as its own –
sometimes rivers and hills, some nights
wind through the long wet grass.
Max Garland is the writer-in-residence for the City of Eau Claire and a former poet laureate of the State of Wisconsin. His new book, The Word We Used for It, is now available from the Local Store and elsewhere.