when that boy fell
haloed and serene
snow-down feathers enflamed
in quiet radiance
he stretched his arms
and whirled and kissed
the sun
and though his nape prickled
anticipated
the plunge
his bare bronze shoulders
his arching back
drip
cascades of golden wax
for now he is
gloriously alive
falling flying floating fleeting
he sheds petals panting
afraid only to miss a moment
eyes open knowing
his sweat is the stuff of the sea
shorn with care from lissom limbs
to climb toward the sun
and there play with wheeling gulls
all drenched dipped and gilded
in slow circles forever
above the drop of a boy
who once dared to live
About the Author
Tyler is a Métis writer, learning and creating on the lands of Lekwungen peoples, eternally grateful for his upbringing in the unceded territory of the Ktunaxa and Sinixt. He is interested in visions and spirits, songs and scriptures, and believes that each of us is born a poet and dies a mythology.
