The liberating glitter ball you think you hold
in your hands
has dropped and splintered already
as reaching out to whatever
you believe you’re not… quite
yet…
you need
you miss
might ‘get’
attempts to land its story, trying desperately
to piece fragments together
and make you whole
find an ending
or new start
as ephemeral and pungent
as a rich ragu or a dogs fart
or a soft sweet kiss

Bottomless landing – ever replete
(rhymes with complete) –
is never and always being
and not being ‘this’.