silvan415

Today was a good day to fly.

The rain was warm,
The way cold water is warm during a summer night,
Floating alone and stoned in a swimming pool
Not quite done, not quite done.

Outside, I wasnt done.
I set the trash down, one hand, beside my ankle,
The droplets tilted toward me,
Through me,
Around me,
How everything becomes darkly shaded by the touch of water.

My head hurts trying to be me.
The way an ocean hurts to understand itself.
One swirl demanding seperation,
And questioning the integrity of the whole.

To a moment I looked through the stained glass of bus-webs
Past the sign stained with water,
Past the light,
And I could see myself flying without wings,
Body warbling concertos against the maelstrom of wind and rain,

Tilting I cross the borderlands, where the clouds are the darkest
The wind rocks me side to side and my teeshirt swirls
And I think Im going to die.

Then I clear

Breath of air spreading a circle

And the clouds become mountains,

There is no rain,

Just spacious sky, and endless cloud-land

Moving like still old men,

And spreading forever.

As the sun tilts down past a fog-horizon,
The sky transitions between endless light to endlessness
Where stars watch restless.

Today was a good day to fly.