Diving

20 May

Mimicking Birds – The Chimney Sweep

 

I slipped fate.

The coarse, rough, and fear

feeling midpoint.

Trampling medians between

The   plunge       and     the  numb.

Some doubt grows and fades.

A dying breath

thick with spit and

maybe this is right.

Maybe I’m comfortable with this.

Or maybe my compass got stuck a long time ago.

Either way I don’t think I’m that OK.

Rebirth.

It takes nine months to come to this.

Every child begins the world again,

to some extent,

and so have I.

And I will not stop dying.

One day The Ship will sail.

And I’ll be on it.

 

image: fiddle oak

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