I wrote myself a note to keep this feeling close • for the days or • seasons or • the years when I forget.
It's the smell that rain leaves behind • when the sky is glowing • both violet and gold.
It's a familiar expansiveness unfurling inside my head, • each new breath reaching the parts of me I forgot.
The feeling of falling will not go away. • Gravity is pulling • in every direction at once, • and instead of coming apart • I'm growing to fill new space.
The windows open the first time for the season, • and even though I've been outside • and I've felt the outdoors, • the smell, and the warmth, and the coolness • washing over me in my bed • is different.
I'll trip on the sidewalk • but the ground changes to grass beneath me • and I don't hit the ground because a string • is pulling me up from the top of my head • and my hand gets one fleeting brush against mint • and raspberry canes as I fall upward, • legs kicking in disbelief, • and I'll wave but I don't think you'll see me, • but I'll meet you when I come down.