Singularity

I feel a vivid joy soaking into me,

being whipped out of me, fooling me

into thinking they are sensations different altogether.

I let the roiling afternoon clouds rile me up.

On the balcony, eye level is where those translucent

ombré fists – bright white, graying smudge, dirtied cotton –

nudge their way into the oily greens of the tree line,

intruding gently without guilt,

rippling verdant scales with

an infectious, tittering flutter.

Glissandos fan, its keys perk up my skin,

as liquid as the sky is blue.

Leaning into the edge, I feel the railing

restrain and hold me back from that saturated, maddening bliss.

It is the lure of being dashed into a million pieces,

joining a million leaves, back into the earth.

(August 2009)