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.
