A man lay dying in a field
between blades of grass,
panting
like a dog without water,
searching for air
not to be found.
In the quiet of night
where darkness
falls
and fills the earth,
spilling into
crevices deep and wide,
he wondered at the sky.
The reasons why
seemed now
to matter most—
there was nothing left
to boast.
Emptied of the fight,
his limbs
dreamed of flight.
Wrists turned upward,
soft skin
receiving midnight dew.
Fluttering eyelashes—
butterfly wings
above his blue.
Whispered memories
of when hope was fresh,
a fruit heavy with sweet.
A sound in the sky.
Wings opened wide.
Staring,
but not seeing.
Hearing,
he began to listen.
A breeze,
like mystery,
rolled in—
a wave in the expanse,
surfing stars
in a cosmic dance.
His limbs began to sway,
cradled by beauty
far and near,
above and surrounding.
His heaving stilled.
Focus tore free
from breathlessness
to oxygen
pouring down
like honey.
Water leapt from his heart,
flooded his blue,
nourished
his soul
and the grass.
A release on the ground.
A release in the sky.
Two powers
surging—
electricity
between earth and heaven.
A man lay dying in a field
until
he decided
not
to
die.
Instead, he laughed.
He writhed in pain
and howled at the stains of grass
on his pants.
When laughter ceased,
the loss,
the pain,
the breathless grief
rose like smoke
and fled into the clouds.
Mystery swirled,
a ghost swinging from the moon.
The living man stood,
said goodbye to the end
and hello
to the new.
© Jill Szoo Wilson, 2016
Jill Szoo Wilson 