I realized a long time ago I was ‘bobbing’ in a huge ocean over which I had no control. Freedom. Weightless. Kissing the darkness as lover.
I love a good feather. One not plucked –
one that slips out on its own
just falling off in mid-flight
so perfect and slow. Sideways
and tipsy it goes graceful upon pockets of air
finding a whisper to ride here and there.
And let’s imagine,
in the last six feet before touching ground,
the feather – the best ones are blue – skims
so slightly my one helpless fingertip. And
breathless, free of all will, I slip
weightless into this meeting of skin and soul.
-Donna G. Dal Ponte