No Turning Back

Some stand sure-footed on the hard dry edge, bank
on its uneroded topsoil as a platform from which
they can dip a toe, safely dangle a leg, place

one foot, then two up to the ankles, stand
in the fast running rapids of reality, icy
stream whipping round their feet.

Some ease in to their necks, hope
the rush of danger cracks their heads
or heart, that shock deafens them to our

landlocked existence. Why not dive deep?
Breathe back our gills. Test the white lie of oxygen
that claims we’re just red lungs, veins and capillaries.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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