The Leap

By Chris Martinez

Something spins within the chrysalis
the firmament rolls and flows,
you’re reading the future in my bones
the reckoning, beckoning from my tarot of marrow,
the low hum of pain’s blind honesty.
While the Sun, he bubbles syrupy deep
down inside the womb,
Earth, with unfolding, gossamer fingers, she
weaves dew into the morning grass,
spoons assurances into my tea
that even this will surely pass.
We careen, drunk on beams of time
never noticing the void below
yawing depths
with winds that wrench free the ego,
uprooting the weeds of awareness
while off into the drift we go.
Then, with fingers that plow the wind and
part the snow,
Earth's hands sweep through her hair of cloud
while the dunes are shifting, sifting
sorting through their doubts aloud,
as I, fumbling through the thunder and ink
stumbling, mumbling down the sink
throw my arms around another drink.
You, serpentine cipher
gust of wind
my dream of drinking water,
you found me swaying in high, crumbling,
hot attics of hubris.
Teetering with carnival overconfidence,
I looked to you, my smoldering incense--
a nod, a wink, and with arms linked
we plugged our noses
and leaped for the roses.