pruning things grown high
in the Indian summer sun.It’s different up here
inside the breeze
where earth seems overrun
like a sandcastle mote at high tide.
Something inside me goes
a little weightless up there where unfettered beings set their wings and ride the air.
In all the years before
my white knuckles never brushed the sky like this.
My feet felt enormous on this creaky perch
and my hands the size of hams,
clinging and cringing with dread.
Fear of falling~my whole being shivery with it.
Of losing my footing and slipping.
Of losing my balance and tumbling.
Something has bloomed inside of me,
it’s petals fluttery and chocolaty
against my soul instead,
like the brave pulses of new love.
And I like it up here
where it’s flowy with lift
and if the bough breaks
and the cradle falls,
I’ll still be cradled by strong, willing love
and my heart leaps
with the knowing.