I am sitting on the edge,
Perhaps looking down at endless darkness.
Might be light instead, but who can tell at midnight?
My hands feel the fine gravel that slides easily over steel. Cold and hard, dampened as the night chill has set in.
I watch the shadows around me move,
Hear voices speaking in tongues I barely know. My ears collect the noise while my brain refuses to understand;
As if understanding might strip away meaning.
My chest expands against the night chill, wisps of after glow, a charge of familiar buzzing surrounding the movements- yet I remain still.
As if the slightest twitch may break the spell.
Stare, unblinking. Absorbing every motion, every moment, every detail.
To miss even one, might be a shard of the puzzle in the feeling of.
To feel is to expand, to wrap deeply around a thing and become.
As if magnetically absorbed, with a tremble of recognition and complete submission to surrender.
Yet of choice, not of mind but of spirit.
Could be so strong, that even genetic code disintegrating as souls collide in cohesion.
I watch in awe, paralyzed by a lack of will to see it any other way.
Not even a blink, might I shy or shed the need to know, to understand or make sense of. Knowing it is so much bigger than me.
For the world is so very large,
When I am just a wee speck of dust on the rusted out bridge stretched across the divide.
When I look upon the movements of this feeling, bliss from the misery and discontent. Learning, in layers-
As peelings from an onion being shed.
Terror that the dark may be darker, wondering could it be dark at all?
Perhaps not.
Beneath might hold a sirens call, summoning light to abandon ...
Ceasing, like ice cracking amidst the hollow din of the sea.
To know, is to presume- and alas there is no presumptions of knowledge.
To long, or to hope- also wanting and creating a lack. There is none.
But to feel, exponentially, without barrier or fear of light or dark.
To feel out through senses, equal feel of expression and continued expansion...
To lay hands upon the gravel, propel forward and plunge with faith and eyes closed.
I may scrape my whole back wide open, flesh ripping and tearing on my way down-
Worthwhile to find healing on the bottom.
In pact, I sit upon this ledge.
Perhaps a well or a bridge, could be even a swing. It's hard to tell at midnight.
I feel a shape move in the darkness, and know it familiar, as a foggy image on a chilled screen.
I remain still, breathing deeply against the weight, unblinking.
Reaching slowly across the divide, in agreement.
Arm trembling from the spine, shattering the stillness to touch the movement in the dark.
