Surface Tension

Lift, mark, claim
as one's own;

we circle the nest,
nose to the ground
emptied out but taking-

a birds song we hear
then whistle.

Some of us are radiant,
irreversible, galaxies

whirling on naked rims;

others are sliding down
the jagged cliffs clawing

for a hand-hold.


Marty said...

All disappear (eventually) into black holes of despair.
Only to emerge (with a bang) at the rebirth of eternity.

Rachel, I do enjoy your poetry and I find your imagery inspiring.

Rachel Phillips said...

Thank you so much Marty- that is wonderful to hear!