Revisiting Flight (Myth of Separation)

Part ONE  -  Bird watching

                                                                                 Blue Jays:

   

                                                           come back to this:

separated by one heartbeat                      one 

heartbeat tactile                    a gasp

~a lifetime.

 I can sit,

 floor center and hold

 in my hands                 words, the uberspill from cupped-palmscattered around me.

to other eyes finding me here, just now, i must seem to have been 

searching for something -

torn my world asunder seeking,,,

futile.             futility

 ~ now 

defeated at the center ...

word scatter, 

spread seeds, the 

hand gestured

 release                           how a wrist spins length into opening fingers 

birds come in a phrase      unfinished

 FLIGHT

a triplicate triple felled - "shatter" - an incidental crash

pulling forth response upon encounter, 

then stopped.

speaking in unison - sharing the 

same thought

       same time. 

without intention.

you are not alone

I am not

 at peace with circumstance 

yet                                  

rest in it             the inevitable wrestle 

the tug of "if only" that moves thought and catch/resists time -

why                   didn't             i just

 leave before 

... too late

"your 'turn and run' muscles aren't firing properly." -

a physical therapist once told me this - yes really. 

travel each breath long,            long as a dream RECURRING IN A LIFE 

that is done.

fear's elaborate presentation -

a rolling whisperstretchingtight 

still stretching - remaining 

steely.                              startled into flight,

birds and parts of my own soul

respond to fear by reaching layers of wing across

the unknown            ........             holding there

without pattern in something wilder than chaos 

- unnamed and opening 

 into expanse -

ever shy of certainty un-coddled  

 locked down safe from safety

something in me

a capacity 

a rhythm

a line drawing and how again 

 the line's sometimes tangle

- momentum

ravels taut -             slowing, mottled irony - 

used light through overworked clarity; eyes adjust.

one becomes too used to the aged, 

dim daily din daily riveted to three steps ahead of

wherever the next footfall presents 

what this moment implies.

how to comport oneself through time's mine field   [?]       not a pessimistic question - just practical - just asking because sometimes times is like this: spinning dials dwelling in lost translations,                              from deeply grained to pristine surface.  

beneath simple speech, whatever the words, your dreamer-voice dreamy,    carrying otherworldly yearning; bones stretching past illusion into fine clear filament maneuvers, windows bending like sheets caught in earth's           warm breath hanging time's broken lines out to dry.    

 quiet webs built for beauty,                 not appetite's tight heartless threat, 

and wings             that don't stick to outdated journeys -  

there is no blood lust - just light - banded, filtered, carried on thin-plated sheets that reject reflection upon narcissus - ENOUGH. 

enough already.      already enough 

just now.    elegant thought 

without quest for knowledge. thought

 because sometimes thought just 

sets out  

and the wakened heart 

warily,

courageously

 follows.