A(n attempt at a) poem

The other night I tried writing a poem. For better or worse, this is what came of that decision:

 

Welcome to Earth

When I reached the fourth star

from the moon
I popped my own balloon
and sailed all the way to the ground.
For so long now,
I’ve made myself blind
to the futility of trying to fly
with an anvil strapped to my foot.
Now I untie it and leave it behind.

Now the gardens sing,

“Welcome to Earth”,
and I am in the exciting space
that lies between nothing and something,
where everything is new
and free from my own expectation.

Your voice rings somewhere

in my head:
“That feeling
that doesn’t go away just did”;
finding my own feelings
in someone else’s song-writing
has a way of making me feel at home.

And not even as

I was getting ready
to come here tonight
could I have dreamt this would happen,
nor even at the very last instance
before this clarity.

Is it this exact configuration

of place and time?
Or was it going to
happen this way regardless?
Shall I ever find out?
I don’t think I will,
nor do I care;
all that matters is
what has happened
and what I’ll make of it.

This is new life

blazing through my hair, every strand
of DNA
I will be happy again.
If not today, then
certainly sometime soon, at least.