When the sky fell,
and we had to wade
knee-deep through the clouds,
it meant the world that
you offered me a piggy-back ride
to keep my toes dry,
and that for once,
as I clung to my throne upon your back,
the full choir of hallway whisperers
had to look up to me,
perched high in your safety.
They could not pull me into the fog,
because you were there as
they fumbled through
the fingers of gray mist below.


When you faltered,
I breathed my love
into your ear, onto the
baby hair on the back of your neck.
That love, that breath
was 30% oxygen, 70% relief
and 100% thankful
to you
for choosing
me
over dry feet.