Rim

This moment is the rim.

Something overflows

into non-existence.

I dance on the edge

tipped and poised

for spilling.

Why speak of safety?

Only the past is safe.

The Word of creation
happened yesterday
like an old newspaper.

There is no program for Now.

Berries, moths,

the skin on hot milk,

wrinkle and perish.

The light of my flesh returns
to cooling stars.

Only dark energy nurtures us.

The microbes in our gut
outlive us and the form
we embody boils down

to gelatin in a cocoon.

My wings have never quite
congealed, so I fin
into the murky future.

What is faith?

Smiling like a dolphin
while I plunge through waves
of shadow

with no idea what I will find.

Here's my advice:

Be the chrysalis
after the worm dissolves
into unknowing.

Perhaps a glistening rainbow

will unfurl, perhaps not.

Taste uncertainty in your sternum

like a blade.

Feel the falling itself:

there is no ground.

Be a seedling

furrowed between seasons,

ripening surrender into

bruisable fruit.

Repose in the nameless awhile.

Then offer a prayer
for what emerges, this
fragile trembling thing,

the earth.