Jumper’s urge

there is a theory
that every time you stand in a high place
on top of a building
at the edge of a cliff
or at the railing of a bridge
and look down
there is some small part of you that wants to jump
that wanting is jumper’s urge

every day
for the past year
I have been with you
I have had that urge

I look over the edge
so many stories high up in the air
and I don’t see the ground below
I don’t see a narrow sidewalk
rows of parked cars
or jagged rocks and breaking waves
I don’t see muddy river water
winding around the pilings of a bridge

I look over the edge
and I see us
I see us with our arms around each other
we are looking off into the distance
my fingers are intertwined in your hair
your forehead is pressed against my cheek

but I can’t see what is welling up
inside our eyes
I can’t feel your hair in my hand
I can’t see which one of your thousands of smiles
Is spreading across your face
And I can’t see exactly what it is
we are looking at
what it is out in the distance
in front of us

today
I step off the edge
and I am falling
and it is only now
as I am tumbling through the air toward us
feeling the force of the wind against my face
my eyes watering
my chest too tight to breathe
it is only now
that I feel your fingers slip in between mine
it is only now
that I feel your heartbeat
in the palm of my hand

i cannot disappoint you - cover

Walking back to Leiden Centraal

Walking back to Leiden Centraal
past midnight down the empty main street
angled, bricked, wide enough for all the feet
the bicycles, the scooters, the shopping
Just light enough this early in the morning
knowing we wouldn’t make the 12:08 bus back to the hotel
and then in the distance ahead we heard a flock of bicyclists
and the light Dutch chattering they made
as they fluttered past us,
their words were animated and utter nonsense to us,
but we heard them as the perfect chirps
and calls of birds we knew
and knew we couldn’t understand
and knowing that not knowing the language
Was what made the moment so perfect

That is the memory I want to hold onto
the spontaneous metaphor
and you by my side with your dead tired feet
me with a swollen lip and you with a cold
our bellies full of pasta and chocolate

open

it is that you are willing to believe your parachute will open
that you need to jump out of the plane
that the ground will be solid
and i will be there with you
because you know you are already floating
through the sky
you feel me tethered to your back
you know we have pulled the ripcord
and when you look up
you see the parachute streaming up out of the pack
and the air hasn't caught it yet
hasn't opened it up yet
and pulled us back into the sky
but you know that it will
and you are looking up at the thin streamer of fabric
like you look up into my eyes
when i hold you in my arms
and even if there were no air in the sky
the parachute would open
just from you looking at it that way.

holding you this morning

you cried on my shoulder
and our hearts beat at each other
like prisoners in a slave ship
down in the hold
in tiny cramped quarters
strong people from different tribes
with different languages
triyng to synchronize their words
to learn each others tongue
in the darkness
and the tears
planning the rebellion
for the next time
they would be brought up
on deck
for exercise
the next time
they would be dancing.