That Feeling

When you were a kid and jumped off a garage roof.

Like thunder without handlebars.
Or the frayed seams of a school yard baseball.

In the uncertain terms of kite strings.
And a gravel road for theology.

How quiet quits the spindle, peels back the print.

Undone by becoming. Traversed by being.
Tipped over. In the end.

Into something so subtlety, and invisibly, forever.

15 thoughts on “That Feeling

    1. Thanks Steve. I definitely thought of you when I wrote the baseball line. Your writing has a lot of synapses in my brain firing again: I think back often to playing ball in the parking lot of the community center down the street from me. Desperately trying to hit a ball over the tall chain link fence that was our home run wall. Though I never did. Glad you liked the end of the poem too. That feeling of forever is important,

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Bob, thanks for thinking of me. That’s great to hear…about the synapses. It’s like we have an online writing group here and that’s important to me. I’ve never been in one before. I never hit a home run in little league and I sometimes wonder if it haunts me, that i would feel much better about myself if I had hit one. Well, I have returned to that little league field as an adult and managed to hit one out.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I like having an online writing group too. I agree, it is important. Glad you had some closure, returning to the little league field and hitting one out. Same, I never hit a homer, but I was never that good, so just making contact was exciting for me.

        Liked by 1 person

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