Wings of Desire

Once having ascended

into heaven, let me tell you —

much like staring

at a blank page and trying to

hold onto the unwritten

word as wind

plays in the ends

of your quill — it’s hard

to get anything done

up here, though you're told

they still need you

down on earth, your thoughts

still have weight there

and meaning — how it's

really your hand

that like in a glove

makes anything happen.

And so I grab the baby

by the neck, pull it

out of the Mediterranean

and lift it back onto

the raft — I grab

the joystick, pull up

and release the payload

on the city almost already

completely flattened

though I wonder

whose hands, what

calculus delivers

the bomb to its target.

That must be

someone else’s job.

I’m afraid to think

whether it falls

of its own

accord.