It will only be
one more mile
until my lungs
give up.
They have only
held me back,
tried to keep me
on the ground.
But in one mile
my lungs will burst
sending forth shards
of used-to-be obstacles
that dissipate into
the chilled air I see
around me now.
Only one more mile
until my feet leave
the ground,
until gravity no longer
has a say in
the way I glide.
That heavy force makes
it feel so impossible
to fly,
and I won’t stand for it
at a time like this
when I’m so close to never
touching down again.
In one more mile
the pounding in my ribs
will sync with the
rhythm of my feet
creating a hypnotic beat
to synthesize my strides.
The melody plays on a
loop inside my skull
and pushes out the rest-
ideas that take up
too much space,
weeds that suck
the life out of things
that deserve to breathe.
That loop,
The pounding in a cage,
and the soul of my feet
work to clean me out
and set me free.
Because once the cleanse
is done I am light as air
I am able to fly
to the mile next
and eventually return
to solid ground
devoid of the weight
that comes with the sense
to know I really can’t fly.