Crossing

6.26.13

My body says listen
so I tune out the birds.
One's building a nest in the gutter.

I know how
pain disperses,
the way a wave thins
to a slippery film
over sand. 
That's when, like magic,
you find your feet buried.

But I guess I know how I got here.
There were choices,
the kind you make because
you have to.

Where once I saw a fleshy cord,
I see a tightrope.

I don't have to cut it to know
if I tried to cross,
I would fall.