we walk on a razor's edge,
you and me.

i am trying hard
not to stumble.

walk on dear,
past the grave.
walk tall,
walk perfect.
ok, perfect may take a little time.

i admit though,
that was one good walk.

if i may,
where do you live?
where do you breathe?
whence do i seek?

shall i plunder some far-away lands
or, behold the wildflowers sprouting on my roof?
shall i aim the telescope at milky way
or, melt into my love's mellow eyes?

you see, i was told --
poetry arrives donning pieces of the seeker,
pieces long lost, or yet to be found.

Breath
rushes in.
moves out.

Again,
   rushes in.

Who breathes?
does anyone, at all?
Amazing!

i heard
about many rescues.

rescued from the tower,
left in a dinghy.
rescued from the dinghy,
left on a island.

i also heard
about the final act
The act of waking up, and
rescuing oneself.

then, LIFE!