Will Inman

a gravity that works by will

farmost flight moves wingless infinite in
takes a stretch of that to gird up for going out yonder
earth-gravity’s roots reach just so far
a deeper gravity than grounding can guide outward

space measures only in motion, nothing out there
is fixed: orbit runs on invisible tracks, pull
speaks a dialectic among inmost cores, you
must carry a gravity that works by will

but no willing travels independent: every
whirl and globe and cosmic wind, every flare
pulse     wave  --  impinges on each other.
you must become cosmic random to transcend

yet even transcendence moves in orbits created
wingless in nectars of distance: no one outreaches
god except by entering and being entered by
a harmonious resonance of all forces come aum

such communion, being still, travels farmost:
a raveling of disparate resonance occurs
voiceless, wordless, yet comes conscious
in shoulders baited reachless with space