I often find myself caught,

catching a break.

Tender eyes flutter and follow,

the wings of small birds in the wind caught,

catching a break.

I often find myself moving slow,

swallow grand gulps of the Pacific.

Sore throat that shutters and sinks,

the mouth of small boats in the ocean slow,

swallow grand gulps of the Pacific.

I often find myself standing high,

heavy feet holding the earth together.

Aching toes tumble and twist,

the bulky bodies of buildings standing high,

heavy feet holding the earth together.

I often find myself grasping,

hollow hands offering service to the ground.

Let me coddle soil, silk, sweet lemon or spoiled milk,

let me remember the sting on my tongue by burnt bread.

I find myself in a place unfamiliar:

the wings of small birds in the wind caught;

the mouth of small boats in the ocean slow;

the bulky bodies of buildings standing high.

I release, let my pace increase, and shrink.

I cannot remember.