Sunshine and Shadow

thread

The moon is just the moon,
I cry out to it, reach the top of my ladder,
and crash down,
as I must.

Windmills are just windmills,
stiving to get to them,
to get away from where I am,
heather like the squiggles of brain tissue,
I sink into my predicament,
am I going to drown?

Home is just home,
and misery lolls in my chest,
much ventured and nothing gained,
stuck between worlds,
and yet,

a hint of spider's thread,

tender silence,

holds me up.

© Hugh Carroll 1997