tonight I am the sky.
its scattered stars beneath the tattered tarp of cloud
still feebly glinting
on the inverted retina of a dark, blinded world,
as from said sky now snow, in microscopic crystals,
pours down, tangoes around the silence,
accrues on steps and ledges, and on thresholds hisses
like the big swooshing ocean,
“behold the moment, human,
you are whole.”
fright? awe? surrender? all of them?
in vertigo, I tiptoe toward slumber
as cadenced breath goes in and out of me
like waves
in empty shells on boundless empty beaches:
it fills me then departs, with each return beseeches,
“you are enough, let go now,
you're enough.”
Writer Between Worlds 