The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Gentle Ascent

Dance upon the cliffgrass
warm clay on which to unfurl
for too easy fall the crags to distract us
from what stares us in the eyes 
and approaches between the neon of days
kind is the practicing of slumber
for our final debut is well lit and awaiting
our passing beyond soliloquys and
explanations of how our proper functions feel
just one more spasm to push us off
what we no longer hope to force or fathom 
welcome beloved Ataraxia for your 
company has been prophecied for ages
and though I have never seen your face before,
old friend, we have many times visited
in the cloisters and if you but wait a moment
I shall say goodbye to the tears around me
and accept the blindness of their welling wishes
then you may lay my hand 
to rest upon this silken pillow 
and surrender the cup from my lips 
for the spoons have all been put away 
and the thirst no longer itches
for nothing remains for me to stay.
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