Am I past the age of potential,

past the phase of charm-will-get-
you-past-the-bouncer at the door?

I don’t like being told I can’t
wear large hoop earrings or gold lipstick.

Don’t you ever wish you could dive
from on high into the world’s wide swoop?

Climbing up long narrow stairs used to frighten me—
I’d pause in the middle and look back down.

But a ripcord attached
to a large silk balloon is a different thing.

One day I’ll spill out the side
of a plane just to try a kind of weightlessness.

I close my eyes— every day,
so much at which to practice being fearless.

And in the distance, fields or crop
circles or terraces becoming legible like writing.


In response to Via Negativa: Stroke.

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