heavy as light

black silk butterfly

gleaming with heavy flutterings

swept along by light, she

follows into the flowers

terrified of sky freedom

she hovers in the middle

blue effervescence crisscrossing

through, sunlight glimmering on small black body

she is carrying the weight

of the world

half

Touching the skin of the water--

like running fingers down the lining

of a blue velvet coat,

feel it rise to meet me

enveloping my body in sweet

innocent desire—half gone,

gulped up by the pool,

legs wobbling below in dim

under-water vision—

this is vulnerability:

this standing almost naked,

lower half swallowed by shadows,

upper half tasted by wind

that raises goose-flesh on my arms—

deep breaths,

like sucking in sensations,

like filling my lungs with sudden brightness,

feel them inflate, water ripples

below—

this solitude

makes me notice my aliveness,

like a lone lightening bug on a moonless prairie;

feel my arms push circles through heavy air--

swoop, swoop!

(like when I was little and had dreams of flying)

tightness a wooden ball in my chest,

the cold licking at my belly—

I cannot stay here

half in/half out,

but it greets me on either end:

chilly unknown stretched in a dark gray blanket

before me; to dive

would be human.

To leave? Even more.

I savor this for a second:

the universe lies in my spine,

crooked between flesh and bone—

I take a breath—

plunge inwards, away.

simply six

We trip along together:

optimistic 6,

cautious 21--

an odd pair,

yet child-hood wonder

the same

as verdant hills

open like dictionary pages

before us—

“I am a white horse,”

she says,

as we follow the path uphill,

the air sweet and clear as cyan blue.

So I was a bear—

because bears can take care of

themselves.

She demands of me,

bouncing from stone to stone

while I balance

carefully, afraid of a twisted ankle—

“Choose: are you happy,

or sad,

or angry,

or tired.”

I laugh,

caught off guard

by such childish simplicity:

her determination

to cram thousands

of burning, buzzing emotions

into four simple categories.

We make it to the top,

triumph over vanquished mountains,

conquerors of a forgotten era

rush through my blood,

make me heady with hubris.

“I am content,” I say,

as the wind smooths my cheeks,

unable to label,

to pocket, tag, shelf

the moths that clunk

frantically

in my brain space.

“That’s not an option,”

I’m informed

as she shakes her head,

skipping away--

still light,

still six.

We descend,

her running gleefully,

slipping, sliding—

a bundle of curiosity

that will stretch

into careful adult

too soon.

But I envy her

this simplicity,

this lust for life—

mine grows jaded with rust

though small things

like mountain conquerings

keep it polished;

I must guard it closely,

musn’t let it

out in the open—

things get lost that way.

slice

there are moments

(when i’ve eaten

the ripe sunshine

and swollen into

balloon- like being)

my body buzzes

with soft

energy

(like the vermillion beating

of a hummingbird’s

wings)

-- it is then i can taste it,

delicious and full,

the sweet juice of it dripping

sticky down my chin

(think orange,

think citrus, pure)

--it is then i can hear it,

the breathing of my heart

which pushes back against

all things night

(inviting in only

black velvet bats to flutter

in its gothic bowers)

--it is then i can touch it,

what it is like to be human,

to want more than is your right,

to long for everything,

to be so close to nothing

(like running your fingers

along the branches of pine needles)

death closes swiftly upon

small bodies,

opening them like drawers

to crack in the

star-crusted universe

before ramming

blackness shut;

it is this paradox—

of wanting much more

than my delicate flesh

can hold,

of being so full of life

i'd burst to eat more

(but feed me anyways

because--!)

the smell of life

is fresh rye bread,

baked early in the morning—

sour and soft,

promising goodness and

wholeness—

chew it thoughtfully,

it is this slice

given

and nothing more.