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Quiet places
seem to offer a way out -
early mornings thick with mist
and the sheeted calm
of water mirroring first light
filtering through the willow trees
on the far bank.
And yet a strange tension
surrounds the still.
Sometimes,
I am sure if I reach out,
my hand will pass right through
a membrane that holds
this world within a bubble -
I will break out into what
is truly real and shines
through the stained glass
windows of all great art
and sings to the soul.
In heightened moments
we all seem a mere millimetre
away from rupturing this thin,
suffocating self prison,
to be close to taking
a breath of pure air
from a place we have known
and yet been away from
for so long - our home.
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