Slipping Into Fluid Grace

There are times,
minutes and hours,
Days even--
     though I'm sure not a week;
     Weeks stretch into forever--
Farther,
Further
than I care to stretch
(If I cared to stretch at all)

Which I do not.

But there are these moments
of attenuated togetherness.
Compact and flush,
short bursts of

Fitting.

Fitting in--
into--
within
my head,
my skin.
And that prickly,
sticky,
porcupine feel
that carries me
in its well-trodden
tracks,
its death-gripped grasp
(its lovely)
(intimate)
(familiar grasp)

Slips.

And for a moment,
that moment
I fit.

And I breathe,
For those moments
hours
minutes or days,
     I leap--

And I dance
on the head of a pin,
Sleek and lithe,
all fluid grace,
until I fall
Again.
Floating,
Feckless,

Earthbound.

And the prickly
sticky
porcupine feel,
the death-gripped
grasp of gravity
welcomes me home
With a kiss.


Stacey Zisook Robinson
c 23 March 2014