Page 8

Swimming Ashore

I have painted many a rainbow,

in this valley where I lay.

Roaming meadow after meadow,

stroking petals as I go.

I pluck stems like gray hair

and tell myself that beauty,

well,

it’s in the eye of the beholder.



I flood like rivers over paper thin cups,

There's always too much coming in.

Not enough going out.

I wonder where the knowledge goes,

when it finally has finished pouring?



I want to dive head first over the hills

and land in grasses softer than a

lamb’s wool.

I want to swim in red clay and kick up

dust,

not bubbles.



I have to keep reminding myself

There’s not enough air to breath.

Not enough for a fish out of water,

Not enough for a girl still on land.