a tight grip on thin air
by Lindsay Sanders
it’s not raining,
the clouds are just dancing,
attempting to shake out the remaining mist
from yesterday’s downpour.
the watery streets are laced with
gleaming against the glittering, gray ground.
the sun rests behind the clouds but the streetlamps
shine on, making reflections on the soggy cement.
it’s not windy,
the chill is just smoothly spinning
along the cold and barren ground,
riding on the sky’s every exhale.
and all the trees and the grass and the clouds
are hanging on God’s every breath,
moving, twirling, falling with every
and we are not hoping (too much),
not asking too much, just dancing,
emptying ourselves of yesterday’s rainstorm,
spinning on the gleaminglybarren ground,
desperately hanging on to each inhale/exhale,
all while forgetting that we’re ever so beautifully
trapped in the neverending ebb and flow.
Author's Note: update from a much older poem.
Posted on 11/05/2011
Copyright © 2020 Lindsay Sanders