The Plains

I used to cling, one-handed to sides of cliffs, pulled myself up

to every summit.

I used to speed

downhill-no hands-crash to a halt

and stand back up, broken bones and all

Chasing the cliffs,

landing the downs

’twas my home,

my pill

whose side affects were known so well

Today

I squint at the solid ground in front of me, the plains, so foreign

I consider changing my shoes, my clothes, my mind.

How can these plains ever compare to catching the wind?

Will these plains live up to that one-handed swing?

These meadows, in front

feel mundane and still

so I station myself to see see see

that’s when I grasp a glint of lavender and bright bright yellow–it’s there in the distance calling my name.