Daily Archives: August 28, 2015

What It’s Like

Like coming home each day
to a house with no floor, 
just a drop when I
walk through the door;
like endlessly wondering

how far I’ll fall as it differs
from day to day.  Some days,
there’s barely an inch of air
between me and solid ground;
other days, I don’t think
I’ll ever land.  Either way
I fall through fog and can’t see
the bottom before I strike it
and I’m jelly when I strike it.
It’s like that, this life of mine,

and I dread it unless
you’re there to seize my hand,
unless I see you, bright spot
in the fog; then the fall’s
more like floating,
and the landing is still hard
but it’s not as hard as landing
alone.


A Conversation May Have Never Happened

It may have been
a conversation 
held entirely in my head
as it was dark
wherever we were,
there was light
around our faces,

I don’t know
who you were then
and am still unsure
who you are at all

but I address you now 
as if I do know, much as
we addressed each other
in that conversation, as if
we were intimates enmeshed 
in deep caring for each other, and
who we were in fact
was less important
than how we did not stop
to consider it at all

as we told each other
things that mattered 
without caring what would happen 
to the information later
except that we were saving each other,
perhaps, from ourselves —
and if in fact this entire conversation
did not happen except
within me, if all I was saving
was myself,
I’m at peace with that,
I do not need
to know who I spoke to
in my head 
except to say

welcome, 
stay as long as you like, 
forever if need be.