Wednesday, February 20, 2019


Plummeting to the ground
like a broken-backed bird.
The wind makes it hard to breathe.
This is actually taking longer
than I thought it would.
Or am I falling in slow motion?
I wasn’t expecting time
to observe
or have a think.
I’m breaking through
thick white cumulus clouds.
They should be made of thick cotton
and break my fall,
but they are made of misty nothingness.
Wouldn’t it be great
if they were unexpectedly sticky?
Or shattered like glass?
The sky is the same blue
that children use to color
their pictures on your refrigerator door.
Can you believe I don’t even know
how I got up here?
I just woke up like this,
I’ve had horrible falling nightmares before
and wake up with a start or a stifled shout
in my own bed,
but this isn’t that.
And this falling is actually more enjoyable
than the dark descents of my dreams.
If I stretch my legs out straight behind me
and press my arms flat against my sides,
I am a screaming bullet.
If I open my arms and flap them like wings…
well, I still can’t fly,
but my dive slows a bit.
It’s something to do, anyway.
The ground beneath me is a field of green and brown
growing larger and larger.
Over there is a tree.
A pond not too far away.
A red and white cow bends its head to the grass,
chewing with a lack of concern.
A black and white shepherd dog snoozes
in a ray of sunshine.
I think I hear a trace of birdsong.
What a lovely...

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