freefall

mornings you squirrel-chirped sentient
blessed the dust floating in the shaft of new sun
long-awaited fresh-faced flickering quivers
bouncing out your skin to the first thing you see
daren’t think of anything but now
now now
the peaches almost look ripe, still in bud

long afternoons you got high on oxygen
deep breath and whoosh
you were fast falling into the blue
past the grass bending and breathing
past the acorns falling past you to earth
past the branches
blue blue blue

evening when they told you
spiders silk isn’t strong enough
that rope ladders can’t reach to the stars if they tried

night-time, you paced
waiting for your darkness companions
twinkling, for fear of being mistaken for mere rock
intangible shapes reeking aura and story
trace them on the ceiling of heaven you can just barely touch

and then — boom!

you remember

not spiders’ silk — dreams!