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      October 15, 2020Almost FlyingR.G. Cantalupo

      after Amichai

      If, just once, we could’ve made
      a flying machine, or at least
      a winged creature of some kind,
      gilded light as a kite over that
      dark spine of mountain beyond
      our bedroom window or even
      floated like shadowy zeppelins
      along our candlelit walls … But
      whenever we tried we fell deeper
      into the black hole of our bodies,
      became spiders, beetles, worms,
      rootbound things burrowing
      inside the belly of earth, hungry.
      No, even our best design—the one
      we kept coming back to—looked
      more like a grasshopper than
      a bird. Still, for almost an hour,
      we could be happy like that, bounc-
      ing from shoot to shoot, my thigh
      rubbing madly against yours, now
      and then a sound rising, a high note
      made of friction, a cricket-like song.

      from Issue #13 - Summer 2000

      R.G. Cantalupo

      “I’m a full-time writer these days. I seem to have more desire now than ever, and am getting younger every day.”