Gravity Sings

Gravity sings to me on days like today, where the way the sun collects in the tender cells of my terminal skin is bitter sweet, Dreary profits who want me stranded in fear, parched and pinched in bitterness, a wastrel of myself where the pulse of energy I feel in the morning is severed from the beauty of apple blossoms and distant from the joy, aloft like a kite or a bird just flying above the ridges because she can, I test the wind on these days and launch away from the heaviness of bones and into the sky just at the edges of leaves at the edge of the horizon of so much light at sunrise caught in the mirrored presence of a single droplet of night collected for bees to drink as sweetest tea.