The World Feels Diluted

The World Feels Diluted

The world feels diluted today, though I know it is
full, brimming, flooding, overrun, sculpted carefully by
sun and moon. I am breathing just fine, but I ache like
I’ve chased after an elusive friend always on the edges
of periphery.

The world feels static today, though I know it is
swift, breezing, rounding, tick-tocking, waving slowly like
rushes on the riverbank. I am walking just fine, but I
need to make myself clear. I need to find where I left
the only daredevil self I ever knew.

There are footprints on my soul that are eroding. Some
left by ghosts
who will never walk the sand with me again.
Some left by men I shared meals and questions with,
whose words are now decades old. We should meet on
the beaches again, or the racquetball court, or a rec room
full of couples who decided laughing was better than lectures.

The world feels muddy today, though I know it is
fresh, bursting, greening, never done, molded like pottery
in a master’s hands. I lost my breath recently, my legs feeling
every reason to cut the journey short. But where would I
go if I stopped wandering? Where would I find you if I only
stayed
home?