you never really know how it feels
to not be able to breathe
until you twist the wrong way between
the floor and the ceiling—
the foundation and protection,
the rock that may hurt you
the hard place that can set you free.
there is a silence that is too loud, they say
when you are living footsteps too far away
from the patch of earth in which you were sewn
now floating through the wind– you feel
like a tulip struggling to bloom in the snow.
(i fell into this moment too deep,
lost in between the lines of
the little boy lost and
the little boy found)
some evenings i pretend that i sink so low
that I find my way to the earth’s fuming core.
i unpacked my things
and made it my home
with no worry,
as i have been warned
that if i go dark
as many may go,
few candles withstand
the wind’s mighty blow.