60 life rafts

i tried to write a poem
that rhymes and spans
the monkey bars of complex
construction, times itself
by perils of scansion, but i failed.

as not so long ago, i flew off
the pull up bars
and found myself awake,
270 degrees away, facing
up from the ground to
the bold shout of bluesky,
body longly splatted
in rough sand. i'd fallen off
the structure that was meant for play
-- how it nearly killed me.

i know words can kill
me by how they've saved me.
even in this brief time together,
by the warming flames of
comradely diction,
storm-tousled metaphor,
and by how the hummingbirds
that hold our words
keep flying:
your poems are preservers.
you are weaving, pens as needles,
a durable raft
of creation
with every stanza committed
to the possible.

it might seem that since the poems
are online, that they waft in a virtual wind
that dematerializes the heft of them,
but don't be confused.
i have grabbed onto them at 3am
as have you. we have floated
safely on these words.
i have exercised my emotions
of surprise, gratitude,
revulsion, appreciation, anger
as these have brightly colored the durable
fabric of these poems.
i have been reminded how to be alive,
how to breathe, how to stand
at portalways of possibility
and walk courageously, traveling
into new senses with now-old
friends. whether lit by
light brights, baking sun,
or hidden in trees, whether walking
as faery folk, via birth canals, or by eating lemons,
we arrive.

birthing these 60 life rafts,
we craft a flotilla of peace,
a haven for all the people
whom poetry has saved.
praise be.