Cracks in the Skywalk

the universe welcomes you

to this moment with

open arms;

wants you to feel this moment,

wants to feel this moment with you. whispers

“seven billion heartbeats and i’m rooting for yours,”

as the next guest arrives to shake his hand.

you reply with a shaking fist to god,

an echo from hell but it doesn’t

come from beneath your feet,

it booms from beneath defeat.

he tripped you at every street corner,

spoon fed you depression and

drowned you in anxiety to counter it.

cornered in alleys you’d wait for him

to face you just so he could

lace you up like running shoes

because your soul was always more run out than theirs were.

you can’t be infected with disease while the cure

courses through your veins.

as you expect no angels descend

singing glory, no herald comes

bringing good news. no

ringing voice cracks the sky open.

the sky’s been cracked since

the day faith sucked your brain dry.

no god was trying to slip through the pavement.

instead the break in the sky served the perfect smoke escape

for the stars when the world got too hot,

the fire burned too bright.

starry nights don’t come around anymore,

afraid of being driven away by the light pollution

we flood into the sky.

stars only exist in dreams, could

no longer guard you from nightmares.

anyway nothing could change the sky from pouring another.

you feel a hand on your shoulder,

turning you to conversion —

i mean conversation,

to god — i mean,

with your mother — i mean,

to broken reality,

to the face of the universe,

ugly and bruised but

still in better shape than you.

it takes two to tango but

you’ve never been a good dancer.

the universe keeps you spinning on your toes,

keeps you in a choke hold — i mean,

an embrace.

you shout “let go” but

you’re not talking to the universe anymore,

you’re in front of a mirror.

you see stars for the first time in years as

they float around running tears,

distracting you from the fact that

you’re drowning.

the universe waits until you’ve stopped kicking to

let go,

but doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath,

forgets you’ve been holding it ever since you learned

love is a two way street and you can’t read the signs.

the universe walks away, remains as everything else

while you hear it whisper to the next person in line,

“seven billion heartbeats and i’m rooting for yours.”