When

When there is space for my heart to dance
and my breath is a free beat
untethered by realities
I look longingly at rope and regulations that structure and contain
and artificially create my own from candyfloss and impossibility
knowing I will break through immediately
with an imagination that laughs at the absurdity of self-imposed boundaries.

Gale

When this feisty wind blows, how is it?
Will our bonds fall? Our stays loosen?
Will our breath slow? Our fists open?

For sure, our bonds will not fall, nor stays loosen,
nor our breath will slow, nor fists will open.

We must pitch our tent then, tied and tethered?
We must build our base then, trussed and trammelled?

Ah, but unpinioned thought will out and grasp the gale,
shaking the land-lashed by the ears,
unleashing us, in all honesty, blow by whipping blow.