So I keep having this thought
where I'm standing
at the edge of a cliff
and it's not possible
to fall

It's not the wind,
pushing me up-
or the resistance of my
ankles
pressing my bony heels
into the dirt
to force me back
when my body starts
to go-
teeter off the verge
of change.

it's
the pull of hope.
the soft ribbons of
sunlight that
snake their
way into the dark
and push it out with
gentle fervor-
with aching persistence
and the knowledge of
better days

I keep imagining standing on
the edge of a cliff
and not remembering
what it's like to fear
or be swept away
by love.