Weightless

When the late day sun slopes
gold and hazy through 
high needles of the pines 
and lingers 
on the laurel hedge
a restless edge of surfeit 
settles on my limbs—
the accumulated heft 
of fig leaf and bolted gates—
and yearning 
for a way back in
my skin rubs up against rough bark
sloughing layer
after layer
until I rise above the hollow husk
then sift down slantwise 
over stone and grass 
and maple leaves
in molecules of early evening light.