There was a time, when, fueled by magic,
I easily tore off the warm woolen sweater of friendship,
spun off the wooden porch, and leapt into the arms of the cobalt night.
With complete abandon, I would run to the beach to witness the moonlight
splitting the syrup of darkness, and sense the gulls, nesting for the night,
like feathered diamonds inset in the granite rocks.
Love fueled, I would open the musty bottle of ancient perfume
and let myself smell the mystery of the dark beach, shimmering with life,
feeling my pores open to the salty lick of the ocean’s tongue.
With compassion and hope I witnessed the vigil of jellyfish,
waiting for the next wave, masses flowering,
tangled streamers released– a comb through Medusa’s hair.
Now, my heart is earthbound, the starry rope hauled in.
There are curtains in the window, a pot of coffee on the stove,
emails from friends, eggs on a thick blue plate.
Will I ever feel again, that magic of flight,
the twirl of spring, the portal of my song
opening to the night? Will I leap again?