Glass Poetry Press

Volume Five Issue Two

Nathan Prince


Swimming strong from heaven, fearless, the undertow and blinding white heat, bestial. And you had to be first, as you always have to be first, but before the fury, that stark moment of contact — snake strike still — effusion of miracles, gravitation of light, beyond. This you always knew, with a knowing beyond knowing, but mistakenly attributed it to the turning of tides, immaculate, unforeseen explosions everywhere you moved — leaping forward, clumsy, think of a foal and all the infinite possible, the desire incredible to me even. You came on strong from the celestial, swimming the furious white heat of stars, having to be first, you studied their positions, calculating distances, timing the movement with a notch in your bow, a feather on the arrow. Brown-eyed and curious, dodging the inevitable, invariable hypotheticals like a predator, head down, intoxicated by blood. This I never taught you, but you me; here is your gift: navigation of stars through tides the secret knowledge of space and hidden heavens.