There you are, scuttling in and out of hiding,
running across ceilings, upside down with
no fear of falling, sure in your connection
with that which can hold you in place, keep

you safe, and secured, even though your
world is topsy turvy, and you hang, on small
soft feet, in way that others can only imagine,
in ways, that others can only wish when they

find their world has been upended, and what
was solid ground, is now replaced by close
clinging, within the hanging in air, that can
threaten to bring one crashing down to earth,

where the known world, has become what
the eye first sees, turned on its head, flipped
in an instant in ways that you would not know,
inverted, capsized, tipped over into something

not known, unfamiliar; a floating in space and
time which needs the correct emotional feet,
if one is not to be flung down, back into the
known world, in brutalised, bloody disarray.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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