Out of the angles of our eyes, the light tunnels in and mirrors out:
people who don't walk with feet on the ground but
feet in the sky and sky on the ground;
and clouds that billow and rise, sink and swarm.
Our tunnels of sight are enclosed by the walls of
experience, narrow and tight,
and light like a worm sniffs its way into caverns of
stormy seas with a boat tossed and no rocky shore.
So when the breathing starts and the heartbeat too,
the clouds crescendo in cosmic chaos,
we see the ground coming at us, knocking our lungs out;
lying on our stomachs, we find a ladybug in the grass.