My Field

Space layered on space . . .
each breath a sip
from the horizon--
tilt the sky
over your head
and feel
the stream of time
as you glide through
a slide of stories,
a thousand river ribbons,
a sparkle rain of stars.
You could swim
in a single drop
sloshed from heaven's
blue tea cup.

I let you out here,
in my head I let you out
from the confines
of my judgement.
Here, you are not "problem."
In fact, I do not presume
to call you
anything at all;
here, you  may be you--
as I am I.
we go our separate ways,
tiny feet patting
the earth's firm chest,
wrapped in sunshine,
growing, slowly,
wings.