The Tent

Death is a tightrope you traverse, each day a new way to walk a little further down the line.

Entire ways of being, ways of seeing, ways of jumping and running and scrambling and fleeing are constructed in an effort to negate and ignore the inevitable.

What if you let death in, as with an honored guest, asked to sit with you long before your last song was sung?

What if you stepped down off the string and strung up a tent beneath it instead? A multihued orgasm of light and life filtering through the patchwork of lived experiences past and present.

What if deaths presence beneath the cacophony was acknowledged and welcome; as much a part of the experience as life itself is?

Winters Bed