As a kind of weightlessness;
As if, released from gravity,
Our bodies might fly above the terrible earth.
We see a horizon
Beyond which we might go
Over which imaginary line
The things which hold us here
Might let us be.
Eternity grinds substance into essence.
Hope is a figment of weather;
Wind and change bring darkness to light:
A glint on the edge of cloud.
So we go on, forever falling,
Briefly free, when fate, for a time,
Recedes as fast as we are diving.
Liberation is no more
Than a point of balance
In a long descent.
© BH, 2012
Previously published in 2012 in Love is the Law Magazine, I’ve added this, part 2, plus the original part 1 of the longer poem from which it was taken.
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