never quite falling nor ever quite balanced

I stumble along catching the horizon
of my world in the parabola of a bird’s flight
until shattered across the shifting floor
like tufts of frozen feathers the mosaic
of my day fails to form a coherent web
to safely cocoon my troubled thoughts away
I focus down into the minutia of our conversations
worry each splintered reaction and half-word
as if the past could be rebuilt from simple wisps
of my memory or salvaged from a dry hope
for some transformation into an exotic other
so I return into myself before the words
let loose like butterflies lifting at once
from the nearby rosemary dazzling
the air with the delight of this dance
in the silent spaces spoken between us
(November 2011)

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