Darkness, ecstasy, anxiety, terror, hope,
Hope beyond hope, component of the foolishness fueled all the rest.
Rest. Let the acronym for the decision least likely to be your own rest.
Why would anyone run down the hill, the gentle slope I rolled down
With the full knowledge of what momentum meant
And a beautiful view of the clarity with which the meadow grass
Terminated in a line of clear blue empty sky? I didn't think
I would soar into that sky, after all, nor hang suspended.
Something in me loathed the edge but loved rolling
In the grass and the flowers, faster and faster, wanted the drop
To be over. Too bad I risked entangling loved humans with me.
Lying in the grass, face ever so briefly returned to the air,
I thought what turn was the no return and realized
I would have had to shed myself to save myself from myself,
As at every opportunity to embrace this native soil
Of soft, accelerating surrender to accept, I accepted.
Aching ribs and all, I rolled over again, feeling grounded,
Supported by the whole mass of the earth a moment longer,
Although I felt the gap to open under me, last emotion, as well.
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