buoyancy

It could be her

It could be…another

It could be no one in particular

Or a thing imagined

Or a thing ghosted

            from past interplay

Isn’t that the way she thinks?

            The way she writes?

That girl kicking out…smooth

          in the floating backstroke

          gazing at the sepia-Gray sky

          creating her own calm

              her own buoyancy

              her own groove 

of being still

letting the current take her...places

a thing interrupted

in the Gray Matter

there’s a gray space

where her wild things roam

where square pegs are chased

            by round holes

where doors are halls

            and halls are doors

a space where she waits

            for the unknown

            for a thing…

                        interrupted

learning to breath

Twelve years dead

            Two years numb

            Ten years living

                        AT the speed of light

                        UNDER water

Finally,

            a slowing

            a learning

                        to breath

            a knowing

it’s okay