And more of The Fall

Moving on with "The Fall":

SIXTEEN: Upon Return (for my mother and father)

Your eyes are
brown and red,
mixing to a stunning
shade of sepia;
relief is the color of your vision.
From my view point
you are beautiful;
I tell you my body moves.
I remember your smiles,
imagine tears.
Later, you bring me
coolness with your joined voice;
a choir of angels
singing in my head.
For now
I will live,
for now, you will
keep me --
safe, as always,
from the edge of
the Abyss.

SEVENTEEN: Three Years

How angry I become
at this prophesied reawakening;
I am incensed at the
spinning of the Earth.
Helpless against gravity,
I buckle,
easily fold to the drag
and pressure that
adheres me to this life.
I am weary.
For several twists
I stand still,
petrified,
afraid to move,
to breathe.
For a moment I remember
stone and long to run,
to hide, to fade into
the stuff of the soil
beneath my frozen feet.
Shrugging, I sigh.
This is a well-trod path
I once again walk.
Loathing does not begin
to explain
nor despair come near
to defining resignation.

EIGHTEEN: For Granted

Shift of light,
shadow chasing bend
of back,
turn of shoulder,
sweep of arm.
Motion unfocused,
action unthought;
the body in natural splendor
parting molecules of air
in graceful dance.
Sensuous slide of
muscle over bone,
glorious extension of leg,
comforting contraction
of spine --
fetal, rest settles
perfectly in
strong sinew.
Body in simple movement --
memory's play a delight;
tease of yesterday
in wishful
musing in the midst
of exhausted night.

NINETEEN: Faltering

In starts and stops,
jerks and halts,
clumsy lurches
on rebellious limbs
move me;
no longer in the running,
I keep pace with myself now.
Ungainly,
I fall to one side,
remain hidden to watch
your glorious ballets,
graceful waltzes,
smooth salty tangos.
I walk as you dance,
shuffling steadily behind;
sorrowful bird-child,
regretting my accidental
loss of wings.