Floating, floating on the current.
Air pushes my back, pushes me
Toward the next piece of home.
Toward restlessness, old needs,
Toward the timeless endless journey.
Toward birth, new lives growing
Into mastery, into familiarity,
Into the next link.
Midway.
Shimmering lake, red-berried bushes,
Bug-filled mud, cooling water.
The promise of rest and a full belly,
That old-new burst of energy,
Re-ascent into the forever air.
Something is off.
Hot air oddly stagnant.
Black ooze reeking of not-mud,
of not-bugs, of undefined danger.
The silent scream of Don't!
But the body's long memory, exhaustion take over
And it's too late to stop.
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