Everything is sweeter,
Even the air around me is tender
And the feel of my own skin is light
With me between the worlds.
I balance on the bridge that joins them.
I arabesque on the rope
I would otherwise cling onto.
And I remember how to flourish in quick handwriting
Across the work of my own life.
I have never been like this.
So certain and so unworried.
I can see the turning carousel of time
For what it is.
I belong to myself,
And to the waking morning.
We still speak in midnight voices.
You say our secrets.
We part the waves and I fall into them again,
But, together, we are chaos
And my heart is not here,
Tangled up in you,
Like the rest of me.
It is in the wild,
Where its whispers are as soft and sure as dragonfly wings.
It waits for him to stumble into the clearing,
To see me for what I am;
The wide-eyed deer, drinking from the river,
Who he must follow,
The strange bird, on the branch,
He has to tame.
I am made and unmade here,
perpetually in motion.
On the old wings of the earth,
I own my life