I look up and breathe.
Both my eyes close
as I exhale. I see you
take a breath after
I take mine. The air
between us thickens.
The energy flowing
means that tension
is growing. The air
between you and I
forms an invisible
wall – one too small
to see through. The air
between us dances
back and forth.
Recycled over again,
the air between us
is more than a gust.
The air between us
knocks off the rust.
It shakes off the dust.
I look up and breathe.
I smile and take in
the air that we share.
It’s been raining for 26 years straight.
I haven’t gotten tan since my life began.
Soaking wet, I had to learn to stay afloat.
I even built myself a boat. In my life,
I have seen friends, family, and strangers
encounter dangers only few understand.
I have seen some sink to the very bottom.
I never liked swimming, but it’s what I had
to do to keep living. I learned not to be
afraid to swim around before I sink down.
Some days, I’ll dive down to see buried
memories and under-water trees. The rain
never goes away as nature does its thing.
I am drenched, cold, and tired as I paddle
in place, creating ripples in time and space.
The water will rise higher, so I practice
holding my breath. I inhale first. I hope
for the best and prepare for the worst:
no air. I am under water, over my head,
but I am still alive, just extremely wet.
I keep seeing the same
shadow. It follows me
wherever I go. I know
this shadow can grow
when lights turn low.
My fear seems to flow,
and paranoia ensues.
With every step, I look
to my right – my left,
and I feel the shadow
around me. Can it be
mine? Can it be me
from another life? Is it
the same shadow I see
in my mind? Anyway,
I walk away: leaving
shadows in my wake as
I swim across life’s lake.
This butterfly is blind, but he flew just fine.
Around and around, this butterfly went.
Without his vision, the butterfly listened.
The other butterflies didn’t know their
friend was blind – nonetheless – they all knew
he was blessed. His blindness helped him
hear sounds and noises close and far.
He could almost see sounds that were lost
and tossed out. The blind butterfly loved
his life and never felt the need to feel
bad for himself. He didn’t know what
he didn’t know, and luckily for him,
he didn’t know where he’s been.
He just flew, breathed, and weaved
through the air that was shared
by butterflies like himself. He liked
himself, as we all should. The blind
butterfly didn’t need to see other
butterflies to know he wasn’t alone.
Higher and higher – away we go.
We are flying in a no fly zone.
We have to fly; it’s the only way
home. We can’t let others see
us fly – they might shoot us
out of the air. Who would care?
In the air, no one would dare
to be seen. As frequent flyers,
we have an insatiable desire
that yearns to burn like fire.
They can’t keep us down forever.
Our wings – they could never
sever. We will continue to fly
anywhere we please. So please,
stay grounded and well-rounded.
This no fly zone is our new home:
a time in space we won’t waste.
IN YOUR DREAMS POETRY 