Sink.

In my garden, this morning, a black bird and his partner sqaubble.
She is closer to the tree itself, she is crouched and determined.
So close upon edge, tremble does the branch, he may take flight as he wish!

Immediate, self and other fear. Have I not the being to simply just be,
And here! I stroll casual, and here! I stumble dramatically.
Possibility and I rise to an occasion like he! They quote, and they snigger.
I am prey, and I attempt to hunt.
And bloom around me, does the threat.

There is water at my feet,
And so I sink in slowly.
Echo, is the dull thud of dripping,
Damp are the walls I attempt cling to.
And so simply, I release my back,
I feel the bones in my body slip apart,
Numb become my arms and my eyes vacant to a trembling scene.
A dull, quivering blue that holds me, weightless and quiet,
I wait and it does pass.
I come closer to a surface.
Unreligious and cleansed.
A form I am not familiar with is the self I, for my life span, refused to see.
Delicate is the skin, now young,
And straight is the hair that falls.


Gazing back, I find the garden tree bare.
And I hear the magpie scream.