Terrestrial

 

 

I watch a heron glide effortlessly

over the water

Inches above the surface

 

I inhale the breeze from the surf

The salt from the spray

Sun melting all

 

The clouds took a day off

There’s no break to speak of

Or even whisper

 

The waves rock softly

Not quiet, but rhythmic

And I wonder:

What am I doing with my life?

 

Sitting with it,

Writing it

Breathing it in

 

Doing it backwards

Then forwards, two steps back

And then I am grounded

 

Grounded like current in a port

Like getting in trouble

Like the ball I hit to short

And barely beat the throw

 

I might be on the verge of tears,

Certainly, I’m on the verge of something

I live on the verge—of everything,

Of greatness and despair

 

The brink of madness 

The leading edge

of thought and feeling

word and deed

 

I feel like maybe

I can be the extra terrestrial

Human I feel I am

 

How extraordinarily

terrestrial

I feel