An entire exhibit is devoted
to Billy Nelson of Coatesville, Indiana, age eight.

The crumpled wings of paper planes that sank
like anchors into the rough sea
of living room’s shag carpeting.

The white sheet, once used as a parachute,
now hanging like a flag of surrender.

The stairs from his childhood home—
each one, a former launching pad.

These are all noble entries.

But look to the pedestal at the end of the hall.
See that empty jar?
It’s not empty.

That jar holds the blind faith that fueled his takeoff
on the day that he wore a red cape and safety goggles.

His heart buzzed with jetpacks and rocket fire,
Even the wobbly pigeons from his backyard
soared in this vision.

People told him anything was possible
as long as he believed.
People said this.