Circle and Spread

And what is your reticence,
        boy of the world,
to fly over the foam
        of your father's first home?

To see his wet face
        cracking through the muck?
Or to ride the warm wind of his voice
        as it asks, "who?"

One can fly too high, sure,
        or too low. But sitting with the difference,
even in the slantest light, only turns us all
        into shadow —