This is where we should fall
On high ground bristling with grass
And other things – beating
Wings in the dark
Too much to hold – and too little to not
There’s a soft glitter here
Whispering. Crashing.
Splintered wood and stone
Rippled in dense memories.
Craving and breaking and reaching.
Like us. Bound to the dust.
Bound to nothing. And everything.
Swirling together and lifting in the gale.
Where the thunderstorm rises dark and wild and free
Over the horizon
Something threatens. To begin.
Or to end.
This is where we should fall.
