Wreaking havoc on our gravity
(Fire endures eternity
Lunging ravenous for this,
Only to snap back and always miss.)
Shoes might as well be made of cement;
Our soles kick against the firmament,
Desperately clinging like spider's feet
To patio, grass, even garden seat.
A jump is a failure before
It even begins to hope to soar.
The heart mocks the eyes
When they see the wrong size.
The blue is so close to our fingers
But reach subsides although longing lingers.
Fingertips bleeding through penny-red hair.
The pain is hard, but barely there:
This pain we feel like a surgical knife.
"If only I could, for once in my life,
Cold turkey leave this dragging earth.
Like a more languid second birth.
Wash me sudden in icy cloud bath.
Show me the widest, freest blue path."
Looking at imagined lines between sky
And the world where all we can do is try.