There are still days

I wish the pit
would have swallowed
me whole: that peace 
I felt, staring into
the crimson sky,
the last lowering sun. 
When my chest tightens,
and my feet never touch 
the ground, I am flying
home to you. I could
spend the rest of my life
pleading for grace, or I 
could jump and hope
the hands of providence
catch me, take me back
to that beauty I have known,
the acceptance I left in
a child’s hands in the pit
of sand, broken glass, spilled ink
and god knows what else