in doubt

I'm tired of the irony
when I feel most drawn outwards by the wonder of this world
that's when my extremities feel the coldest
and every breath seems to carry away a little of me on the night air.

I feel less of a human being
and more of a sensory organ,
just moving through the winds
sensitive to light
curling up at the first sign of danger,
vibrant and frightened.
And my fear is my last tie to the world at these times
If I could push aside that final turnstile,
and roll onto the slick white floors of the wider universe
bereft of human ties
I could no longer be caught in this cycle of alternate insularity and longing.

I could move through the wide caverns,
swim through the waves of turquoise foam
lick the candied sunlight
and walk on the untouched sands where no voices speak.
There is a place where the imagination is no longer confined to the far-fetched reaches within,
but where consciousness merges with the broken standards and rules
of the world beyond.
There are days like this. When I don't feel human.
But I am of rock, and water, and fire, and air.