Sometimes I am more than convinced
The only thing keeping me tethered to the wet, dark, autumn dirt
Are the whorls and swirls on the pads of my toes.
Circuitous and tangled, curling up and in one another,
These are the only lines holding me firm to my world of moleskin notebooks, keyboards, plums and tea cups.

It seems such a tenuous connection.

Perhaps,
I will wake one morning to find myself subject to the laws of physics once more,
And feel the reassuring press of gravity on my shoulders,  
Secure in the knowledge that I will not loose my self to the cold, black, unknown-ness of space.    

Until then, I am here-
Proverbially barefoot, toes digging into the cold and sleeping soil,
Trying to get a grip.