My Atlas

Atlas,

when i found him,
resode in the least expected.
now upholding
these nevermeeting universes that are
absent of dust or webs and woven
of motion, and motion.

motion:

of he striding:  unbent
toward unseen
unshaken by
the wind
of the far far away.
he the quixotically the doggedly
the unabashed he.
he the pursuit of
intention.

he baking french toast and
holding separate and strokedsmootheskies,
up
discrete layers and layers,
up
alien worlds alien up,
he of plenty.
arms of concurrent and arms of
apart we
up and up
and upon his
only his
arms.
up

he cupping our separate everythings
the slight elephantine
the immeasurable protozoan
the orbs of us
holding in his clean hands
this dazzling concert
in which all of us are free
all of us are
able.

fingers scarred by paper slices
eyes of chameleon abyss.
mouth meant to kiss
and 

unaware Atlas
shingling
singling
my bringling

lifting me lifting me
up