An Awkward Flight, with hammers
It has been an awkward flight, tossed
from the cliff without wings, left to die,
or at least expected to, You pirouette as you fall,
Hammers and saws spring from your hands,
cartoon-like, were the fall not so fast, not so
potentially deadly. You look down
and see the bones of those who have fallen before you,
and yet, still, strangely, leisurely,
remembrances and discoveries come together,
building wings as you fall.
not sticking the landing,
but rising, your toes trailing the hard earth
before you rise again.
About this poem.
More autobiographical than I would like to admit sometimes.