How an Old Boy Tries to Float Again
I reminisce of weightlessness:
peering down into 10, 20 feet of air.
My delicate days,
I recall,
as a haze
full of branches:
a careful cloud
of offshoots
that, long as I could,
I held on to.
But time has dragged me
toward the precipice.
I recollect of exuberant endlessness
For blameless ecstasy's sake.
Despite the pressure,
my heart don’t dare break —
but it green-stick fractures.
I woke this morning with my chest full of splinters.
My dog tired eyes misplaced the stillness.
I tried to recapture it,
but catching your breath takes time.
My weightless home, blue-gray as my cyanotic face.
Daily I wake and
my heart don’t break,
but I am not too good to cry
like the four-year-old that lives inside
me.