How strong the wood is
how heavy the water
how fire burns you and saves you
how we can suffocate in space.
A leaf knows no direction
and it cycles. How I slip across
a plank of moods
how I gaze so far in my small mind
how I am not this sick body,
but a cycle–a circle, a painted sphere in orbit
given to touch–to feel–magnitudes.
I know no direction.
The dark, the light–two poles of a whole.
Balance: I pull you too far down and then too high,
but at such lengths I wander beyond myself
examining the weight
of such a life.