Finally free of its last moorings,
the soul sings the sweet hiss of surf.
as flesh shredded against crags,
wisps into traces of C, H, N.
then dances in dervish fever on gleaming far waves
cloud swoops over a city like a benediction
races up a lit Eiffel, yodels with gospel singers in the Queens
bungee jumps a cupola or two
shimmies down an arctic iceberg
to jump to a far desert, a swirling dancing sandstorm
finally free.