turning and turning again.


You are the same. You are tossed/turned, being first crushed and shoved and turned inside out to being air, flight, weightless. And you reach out so far beyond and draw back into yourself, only to try it again, to crash again. You gain only inches, and you can dwell on that, but you did gain. And you go to sea because this town felt small so you get on a boat and the boat is smaller and you feel small because you are on the ocean and it doesn't end but you can't go back because you don't want to go back, you can't go back because you said that this is what you wanted and is this what I thought it would be and does this compass actually point directly north. And the dream of something theremustbemorethanthis pumping through your entire being is what keeps you rowing and ripping sails up and down and taking the storm one more time and the hot days waiting for wind to come and the wind never stopping at your back for the glimpse of a sunset where the sky kisses the world sweetly at the end of the day. There is the going in and the walking out of the waves, rolling under you, rolling you on. There is the deep mystery of the sea below you and all of the fish that talk at tea time about the boy who crossed the whole of the earth in a fashion that suggests that what he was looking for could be found on a map. There is salt in your eyes and on your skin and air- AIR. In your lungs. It is no small thing that you are alive for this, that you are alive to take another step, that you can take in air and take in the world and breathe out what you don't need and blink your eyes when they need rest and sleep to wake up refreshed.

These days are no small thing. You have gained only inches/ inches you have already gained.

Posted on February 10, 2010 and filed under writing-.