In the ailanthus tree I saw myself
wafting between branches and their
unfallen flowers. I balanced
in the air, perfecting a kind of nonchalance
nobody needs anymore. I lacked the
analogy for what I hadn’t felt yet. I tried
to make myself predictable, banal, and
for years was my own analyst. In front
of where I waited I could hear rumbling
like water rushing through a canal. The surge
appeared, I looked into its eye, an exterior
analogue of my inner world. Then I knew
my true name was Avalanche.