Each launch begins with a prayer
until I have a puncture, a rip, a tear.
Mayday!  Mayday!  Mayday!

I am always falling
either to the earth or to the stars,
falling forward to God the Father
or father to son.
  
To survive I move in the vacuum
between calm heartbeat
and silent in-breath,

hurling to my final mission
to repair a disconnection
of a mind that can
***** life with a thought
or by sniffling
a remembered tear,

knowing not whether to
****** the monstrous soul
or to hug the last, lost dead part.

I swim through
the waterfalls of mars
knowing I never really knew you
nor am I you.

“Stay where you are.
Do not proceed any further,”
you hiss in loving defiance.

In the space in between
I see that madness is
never once thinking of home,
being free of all moral doubt.

Tethered to the umbilical
I cut the insanity to the vacuum,
suffocate the space between
with love,

until I can no longer see
what is not there,
until I miss what
is right in front of me.

In the after-burn from Saturn
I am looking forward
to the day of my self return.

I will rely on what is closest to me.
I will live and love.

I hate bouquets of flowers, the smell of lavender, and chocolate ice cream.
If you take me to a movie when I’m tired, be prepared for me to fall asleep halfway through, missing the best parts.
I’ll forget to put mascara on in the morning, but remember the shirt you wore on our first date, or the story you told about your sister in the second grade.
I know when to bite my tongue, but sometimes lose my tact.
I’m honest, independent, and can carry the groceries up three flights of stairs in one trip.
I’m not perfect, nor am I afraid to admit when I am wrong. I keep the doors to my heart locked up, but if you knock I might let you in.

the tree of 300 ad
feels like a tree
we feel happiness