Breathless

A cloak falls before weary eyes,
blown by a troublesome wind
moving in across the plains 
with the persistence of tumbleweed
in the dry season.

There always seems to be something
nipping at my heels
leaving prickles running up my spine
and I can’t seem to shake it off
though  no backwards glance can find it,
	
My search goes on
for the doorway out of this place,
the light to lift the shade from my eyes,
the rope to pull me up
from the depths of this sea.

Fingers reach, but its hard to hold,
no matter how far I reach,
I never seem to get close enough,
no matter how tight my grip,
it always slips though my grasp.

I drowned once,
sometimes this feels too familiar;
sometimes a breath is hard to take,
but I take it, because this time
I’m living through it.



march 2007
Janet Reid