Dark Going

Where once there was solid presence
there now is only this dissipating, this retreating...

silently fingering old footholds,
toe-deep, yet somehow grounding;
      repeating once forgotten rhythms,
now remembered.

But still there must be dancing
to the old steps (and trembling)
at the mercy of the familiarity of grief.

I pluck at the same string
to find I’ve still retained the melody:
the one I never wanted, but couldn’t live without;
the notes of unity, a song of empathy
that takes me back,
("back, baby"), back away from the world,
away from normalcy, and into the cloaking shadows.

They say you’re never the same.

But I wonder if we’d never changed...
how would we fly, then? How would we survive
the tumult of the seasons (always changing),
the melody’s unsung lines rearranging themselves
into the simplicity of needing human contact,
a best-and-most-human contract,
to come to the end of ourselves and leap in faith?