Is living the same as dying
only in slow motion?
where the nurse takes your pulse
and looks right through you?
Time passes like the last drop of water
clings to the faucet,
as if suspended in resin,
then falls as loud as thunder
of the approaching storm.
Like dream-walking between the tendrils
that hold us together,
our fingertips just out of reach,
then high dive from the end of the balance beam,
like baby gymnasts, double-jointed,
bending without pain.
a perfect landing.