Breathing, slow but faster than I might expect. A desperation, gasping soundlessly to gulp in this moment, emerges. This sky—this sound of blue. I can hear the color. Feel the taste of minerals on my skin. The cape surrounds me. Under my endless cerulean cloak, I crawl towards the dirt. For a second, a moment. I am obscured. Even God cannot see me.
My emotions lift, my mind is taken from even myself. The hunger of survival, even languidly, takes over. Momentarily caught in the dance to survive. Practicality. My limbs tire, my lungs begin to tighten as my blue dome turns towards light. My mind quickens and pulse rushes. The dome flashes with an appeal to God. I’ve escaped this time, but not for good. How many times may I dart out from under running legs and reaching arms. Next time.
A freeze frame of the world, contorted backward into a dome of blue, the globe’s edge lined with sharp pines. The cool, soft shards beneath my back. Distant rustling. My legs rise to the surface—the edge. Gracing the air, kissed by the sun. When the world flips, I jump into the salt, diving to the gravelly sky, grazing my elbow on the sun.
The clouds are under my feet as I travel blindly towards the moon. I step on the cliff and suspend in space. The dark hits me and sizzles, and I find myself at the fuzzy edge again. The cusp breaks through me, and, bobbing, my throat full of salt, I am guided backwards to the blue above and below. Forward, downwards, upwards. Righted—I list back to my beginning, facing that dissolving edge again.
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