The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
Sweet Ascent

Sweeter the sunset falls
upon the receding grass laurels
of the gnarled jags of a precipice
where the final vista blooms
lapped by the sullen silver sky
softly unfolding like a familiar fog
temples leaning back into the
wrap of warm roots and the mulm of
autumn-spiced mulch and the mushroom
hale of a welcome repose and the
swaddle of a sphagnum blanket
pulled to the chinny chin chin
smiling at the stars turning and
the kiss of falling comets
head turning over to the other side
to trade pillows for the plummet
of an ungirding crib poured out
like milky bathwater as the rush
of air tussles the hair and
rustles the rare earth of atmosphere
but a moment to settle upon the bottom
ended on the impaling of the piquant
loss of pain unstruggling in the
resignation of brokenness and the
dawn of a tangential evolution.
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