Cautiously we move from here to here
nodding between hummocks of earth
and trowel of sky. Sometimes the open
atmosphere can feel more stifled than
a closed room. We have lost our feeling
for it and are blanketed by an unnerving
temperature of the unprepared. Surfeit
of space becomes ruinous for we are
sucked into ourselves for want of shelter.
Caught on the earth in a tenuous bubble
of this is a sad resignation. It is one we
own not of choice but of circumstance.
If only we were able to take up the adage
and throw caution to the wind. But the air
doesn't stir beneath the moonless tyranny
of sky now weighing like a coat studded
with sultry badges of night that concur
and hooks pulling the atmosphere closer
though not as protection but suspension.
Time is tightening in upon our travel and
all we experience is less than casual for
the ground rises toward an expectation
of coming day and the stars struggle on in
an attempt to retain what little they have.
'Between hummocks of earth and trowel of sky' - gorgeous.
ReplyDelete"and hooks pulling the atmosphere closer/though not as protection but suspension." Marvelous.
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