The element of my birth is air
and I am typically restless.

Nothing can hold me for long.
Even this flesh fits loosely.

Maybe if I grew feathers
I would trust the wind more.

Remembering, how as a child
I scaled trees clear to the top,

as if trying to get home or at least
to nest in some rainbow,

I now close more doors than I open.
What of it, then? What of it.

To continue, click here.
Copyright 2015


3 thoughts on “WHAT OF IT

  1. Wonderful poem. I need to come here on a regular basis, my life has been chaotic for a long time but I’m finally remembering that it’s safe for me to land now, though I still have too much trepidation. For a few moments your words have stopped me. Element of air, closing more doors than opening them. How do people who are idealists learn to know when to open doors, when to keep them open, and when they must be closed? One hopes that a compensation for the gradual demise of one’s physical self is compensated with this bit of wisdom, with this accepted offer of learning to take care of oneself.

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