Days I sit within the clouds,
high on a fear of penetrating complexity
Fear of heights falling through my neuro
pathways, hitting synapses on the way down, and sitting safe on my ledge up
in the sky I can store it in
clenched knuckles and let it flow into
Days I sit beneath the earth,
buried in concrete surrounded by cold
history, truth waiting to be disclosed.
Bravery of some proportion roots itself
in the pit of my stomache, growing
slightly each day: an elm that will
find the porous pattern in man’s
concrete and find the sun.
Days I stand in this blue world,
souls swirling within and without;
a calendar of hashes drawing each
day to a close, exhaling meaning.
Wisdom finding it’s own peaceful
silence inside my chest. Sitting with
tea, a book, a pen; an old friend
full of equal parts fear and bravery.