On the Roof by Aubry Williams

With every jump, I could see a little more of the horizon,
.
                          and I watched
.
as it faded from freshly minted pennies to baskets of chili peppers into
.
              absolute zero blue
.
that obscured the treetop canopy and its horrible needle rictus grin.
.
                          I watched
.
as the planet spun like blades in a blender and Mongolia once more
.
              greeted the morning,
.
.
 its dusty steppes stealing the light away from me
.
                                                                                  and plunging me headlong into cloudy
 . 
                                                                                                                                                    broken
.
                                                                                                                                                                 night
.
With every apex another star reared its head,
.
              with every apex Helios approached his crescendo
.
                          before vanishing into day,
.
the way a cougar approaches a hiker and vanishes into the bush.
.
.
I dove noselipsears into the stratosphere.
.
My lungs bloated in the thin air, ready to burst, like two bronchial balloons.
.
                          The wolf in my ribs howled
.
over the backyard fence
.
                           at the moon.
.
.
declaring to the Scottish heather
.
                          the japanese maple tree
.
                          a two-foot St. Peter with a lichen beard
.
.
that I was indeed alive.
.
.
.
Copyright © Aubry Williams. Originally published on Poets.ca as the winner of the 2016 Jessamy Stursberg Poetry Prize, senior category.
.