Indigo glossed streams cascade down a mountainside 

It appears blurry

out of focus

yet the water remains agonizingly blue

I can almost make out my tree

with its flimsy limbs and wilted leaves

It produces nothing–

fruit nor color

nesting nor shade

and still

it allows me life

permitting my next breath 

and the next,

doing so

in absence of gratuity

I shift my gaze towards the sky

shrouded by hundreds of

jet-black specks littering the heavens

I think the birds only fly because the trees cannot.

He wasn’t sure for how long he’d been staring at the ceiling. Dreams had begun blurring into his groggy-morning reality, and had he minded, it may have been cause for concern. He knew it was Saturday, but he grabbed his phone off of his chest–where it had fallen from his outstretched hand the night before–to check, making it so. There were things he needed to do, but they could wait a day. Maybe three. As he attempted to adjust his body into a more comfortable position, seeking the sweet spot that would swing open that elusive dreamgate once again, a sharp pain shot up his back and out through his shoulder blades. He winced. As the subsequent throbbing subsided, he thought to himself that he really must return to a more consistent gym routine. Recollecting both thought and limb, he rolled onto his side and was met with a resounding dose of more-than-slight discomfort in his upper back. This time he couldn’t corral the yelp that escaped from his gated lips. I feel wrong. Sitting up felt liberating. His lanky arms stretched upwards, and as he moved them down and around, completing the revolution, his left index finger grazed something. Something, where there was nothing. He stopped, and it was unclear whether he absorbed the stillness or it him. Craning his neck up, beyond his beating heart, he met with an unspoiled sprawl of white.

 It They extended well above his head, curving gracefully outwards near their respective summits like twin flags bowing to the wind. Intricately layered quills carved the morning like jackknives. Pulsating veins kept each flap true to a symmetry that he was utterly unable to appreciate. Serrated edges and perverted angles defied laws of geometry he never learned. Blink. He remembered his 6th grade field trip to Black Chasm Cavern. A tall tour guide droned on and on and on. He didn’t remember what about. 

It was his first time seeing a bat. He remembered how it clung to the high ceiling, engulfed in a shadow of its own making. The tour guide pointed, the ensuing commotion proving ample disturbance. In its fell, he saw a set of wings release as if cocked and spring-loaded. Thrashing against the thin air in self defense, it ascended blindly. Upwards it sailed. A few moments passed before he could discern the rhythmic trickle of loose springwater from the ringing echo left in its departure. 

…

Soaring through baby blue skies

the wind whips my face

in chastise

I recognize nothing

of the sprawling canvas

beneath

and yet

I know where I am going

Not this mountain

but the next

Atop its sloped spine

shrouded in mysterious haze

I park

searching downwind

for my tree

Amidst the fog

hundreds

of towering oaks

disguise the patch

upon which

I know my tree resides

Closing my eyes

I inhale

My nostrils flare

as maiden O₂ molecules

charge manically

toward their chemical wedding

I peel open my eyelids

and tilt backwards

my neck

The birds have disappeared.

He blinks twice in rapid succession. The sky radiates unmistakable azure through the surrounding grey. The wind whistles an acute ballad. Lowering his chin reveals the ledge. He squints. Nothing. The altitude has made him keenly aware of a sharp pang in his forehead. He thought that he might fear or fight or bargain, but instead he waits. A step closer. He never looks back, knowing what lies there without second glances. A leap of faith. He thinks of the cavern; the bat he could never quite forget. Startled, but certainly not scared. Resurrected from the damp embrace, its wings beating endlessly. A tremor claws up his vertebrae. Now he knew. Predestined; he doubted not in mind nor soul. For glory. For salvation? He no longer saw the bat, eternally confined to its pathetic cave. He no longer saw the mountain. He no longer saw the trees. My tree. All he could see was grey. 

Jump.

I’m light.lighter than before. His hair jostled frantically to attention.he tried 2 clear his mind entirely from pesky thoughts hidden behind jagged crevices I need to concentrate on my breathing.an unwelcome emotion accompanying his dive,letting itself inside without permissionI won’t fear Fear cannot fly . He strained his back,his body. Unravel.Mortality clipped his wings.He wondered then if God would forgive himHe was sinning , but God forgave sinners.

Right?

I dontUnderstand.IsThisnotwhatHEwantsfromme?Mygift..Isretribution.

IamPredestined.NotasHEbutHISMessenger.HEwantsMe,andIHIM.

IdemandHIM.

Groundisclose.now

IfeelamLight

solight