To be between
I have woke many times and felt my body--
a shirt put on backwards, a subtle irritation, a slight cutting of breath.
The wish to fully inhale never granted.
I have watched myself become stranger, returning a gaze
in the reflection of a copper cup or cracked urn,
I have remembered the separation between my skin and the air, forgotten it again in a microscopic moment, your nose and forehead pressed against mine, your bluegreen eyes merged to become one,
my toes dangling over the body of a silver hillside, the waters of the Pacific
lapping at my ankles.
To find that solid things are full of holes, sound slowed down full of silence.
Upon impact, to find my palm slipping into and through your arm, then your chest.
Pausing against your heart, warm beside a pulsating thing. For a moment, the agitation that is my body allowing itself to be calmed, to move and be moved through.
To find myself against a concrete landscape, to be between the grass,
ever thirsting, to rise as the tide, to be lifted by a force other than my will, to be tethered by something other than gravity’s effect on this mass of skin concealing muscle concealing bone.
I am dipping myself into the Pacific, this time it is cold.
My weight impresses the sand beneath me, here I am standing, here is my mark.
I begin to imagine myself drowning, this is not bad, this is
a subtle captivation, a full breath.