Rope Swing

March 30, 2008
For this instant I am airborne.
Time stops, I am but an illustration detained by a sketch.
Time plays, the life in my limbs is resurrected in anticipation of the murky cool mass below.

Light wind kisses my ear lobes and nose.
I have reached my peak.
So near the wrens and blue jays free above me,
a final reach and I can seize the heavens.

Alas, I begin to descend,
releasing myself,
my hands ablaze as if the fiery sun itself has scalded my palms.

My skin is quenched in what seems like an instant.
I am entirely submerged,
taken by the mysterious murky liquid that showed my reflection before.
I sink, still descending

Unable to open my eyes
unable to breath.
Yet, I see darkness
I smell.

I hear--one constant hum.
Air bubbles from my nose,
rising to the surface.

My feet continue to plummet beneath me,
slowly this time.
I have reached the foundation,
the viscous muddy interior.
Time has stopped once more.

I have shook hands with the cold and haunting base harboring the water.
With one push I am met with what is familiar.
One gasp and I open my eyes wide.
The rope sits still, carrying cool droplets of mud and liquid.

The cobalt sunburned fluid that surrounds me ripples,
starting out small, moving slowly away from me.
Further, they spread, as if saying goodbye--
It was nice to meet you.

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