She tends toward darkness (swims in the deep).
The pull of the core, the inner workings,
the doorway to divinity. Diving,
descending, into black as night, lightless beauty.
She thinks about death (often).
Longs for it, really. Releasing, freeing, exhilarating
formlessness. Death in bright,
sweet, homecoming light.
She dreams of flying (not full flight – more just
bouncy steps that lift and
leave her suspended just long enough).
Respite in air, easy breezy, a gentle drifting back to earth
to bounce again. Lifting, lilting, lovely flight.
Her breath gets stuck in a painful
hollow between her chest and throat
(the place, she knows, of secrets,
and surrender). Oh,
for a voice to move through
the mire – teller of the difficult truth, singer of the sweetest song –
she will be.