I think it’s funny, the invisibility of hierarchies,
how if they are nine levels to the peak of the celestial,
I cannot see whether I am to climb

a tower like a totem pole, dip my grip
into the divots, squeeze my thighs,
or who I might offend on the way.

Or am I to walk up a pyramid, count the people
I set beneath me as I step on them—whenever I’d
need knocked off, having more of a slide than a crash?

I think I should like to earn any wings, and use them
to lighten others’ loads as they go. I think I should like
to choose which pair. I think I should like to hear the

road it takes to get there. Side by side, do you think you would like
to brush the hair from my face? I could rub my fingers down a
rung on the column of your back. You could help me see you right.

first feat. in Antler Velvet