Breathing [2021]

I breathe in — cold, crisp air

hollows in, then fills me.

Not just my lungs. I am fuller.

This air is purer than any I've known,

a tidal breath from the Pacific,

salt and clarity threading my chest.

Light is here too,

real enough to touch, to dance

along my skin —

waves of starlight washing me.

My eyes are closed. Am I afraid?

Somewhere the ocean pushes and pulls

against sand I can’t see but know is beautiful.

I don’t think I’m afraid.

Still I’m not ready to open them.

I should open them. I feel it.

Comfort keeps me here; it is warm, and small.

Still — I can’t stay. I have to jump.

Here it goes.

What if it isn’t enough?

What if I’m cheated by the view?

What if forever is flat and dull?

No — stop. I won’t live there.

I’m taking the jump.

Okay.

Here it goes —

wow.