It is a lot like breathing; the first breath a footstep
down a dark hall, the residual pounding of echoes that take
you inevitably to the end, the lulled
calm that enters without an invitation, it is sleep
hovering inexhaustibly behind the eyes,
a numbing thorn that pierced
your foot the day you wore flip flops out
in the Arizona heat and decided
against the tweezers and for
a month of pain where the floral barb
sunk deeper and deeper until it bubbled and then
-popped. It is a lot like a tether, an anchor,
a quiet resignation like smiling at the balloon as
it leaves your hands, making wishes until the very moment
it leaves your sight.