In the midst of the fire,
I breathe in air,
And breathe out desire,
And dress in the stateliest attire,
To meet the face of the specter,
That will carry me away into the neverending,
That bright-lighted, clouded sector.

In the curve and corner of the world,
I stand and wait,
Holding onto my possessions,
As I tap my feet and contemplate.
Have I reached it already? Am I really here?
Trumpets are blaring and people are smiling,
But I don’t hear a cheer—
Coming from me.

My pain is gone,
My wounds are numb,
Taken from my dying lawn,
Abruptly, quietly, like an act of theft.
I am tired and sick,
I wonder why I hadn't left—
Years and years before.
It’s exhausting to live,
Anxieties, fears, losses,
So little to give.

But as I stand here, atop it all,
The place I've been yearning for,
I can’t help aching— yearning for my fall.