Planetary Travel
My father was always shy
when he loved me in his way
breaking his back cementing
the cracked sidewalks of Brooklyn
freezing his face off on those
four am light-the-coal-stoves
winter bicycle rides through
the dark lonely streets
feeling unequal to the task
not knowing how to cross
the planetary distances between us
how to land his heart where I was
how to speak my foreign language
how to place his large hands
thick and hard like cinder blocks
over my head in blessing
how to share his skin
anoint me like Solomon
pour into my being
that which was man in him
lock me into my own bones
make me my own king
breach the cold orbits
around which we spun.