Here And Gone

look up

Look up.
I do this often lately.
I look up,
and I see the impossible depth of the atmosphere
as it stretches impossibly away,
and I am a tiny thing, an infinitessimal thing,
fleeting and small on the ground.

When I was a kid,
I stood in a copse of poplars —
thin, tall things they were,
reaching up and in toward the center of a spread of thick moss —
until the vertigo overtook me
and I had to lie back on the cool earth
while the sky and the trees spun around above me,
leaves chattering like shallow water rushing over stones.

I was nothing and all things,
I was but a tiny piece of the conscious universe,
a selfless whole within a whole.
I was free.
There was no me to pin down anymore.
I could not be found.
I was here and gone.

I look up now
as spring spreads branches wide and opens the sky
and remember being nine and free,
an infinite whole,
and I am free again for moments,
here and gone,
here and gone.


The above poem is a response to Amy Turn Sharp's call for 5-minute breakfast poems on Fridays during the month of April.

1 Comment

Elan Morgan

Elan Morgan is a blogger, designer and consultant, and speaker who blogs and works from, spreads gratitude through the social network, celebrates quality blogging with the, and speaks all over. She has been seen in the Globe & Mail, Best Health and Woman's Day magazines, TEDxRegina, and on CBC News and Radio. She believes in and works to grow both personal and professional quality, genuine community, and meaningful content online.

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