The cottage on Apple Hill Road was getting a new roof.
Ladders leaned against every side safely tied off
by the safety supervisor.
I bend to untie knotted shoestrings of fear that
keep me tethered to solid ground.
I boldly step barefoot onto the rung. Fear is banished,
no longer in command.
I will walk the slope of the roof, stand at the peak
in glorious freedom and joy.
From there I will leap to the dark swaying branches
of the oak that sweeps to the sky.
swiftly swiftly now climbing enveloped in the sheltering radiance
of sun drenched leaves and waving ripples of wind and blue,
tendril arms reach to dark limbs, feet find footholds and crevices
that only eagles have known.
toes curl around the top branches outstretched arms grow feathers
head thrown back in victory mouth gulping the liquid drops of air
the sun rays are heat and flames scorching my face
and i dare not look down.
this breadth of view this heaven of angels, of muses, of clarity;
Do Not Fear the angels say each time they meet a mortal.
They know we fear their wings their otherness
their instructions
of impossibility.
but each time we unstrap those shoes of fear (no matter how stylish the heel or brilliantly cunning the color)
and run barefoot on the shards of a cracked life,
God shouts with joy, the angels cheer
and the beast retreats into the ground.
the circle of life 