By Shirley Kaufman

Through a blue window

I am letting it go, light
having washed its feathers.
The sky is a flat sheet
of water reflecting itself,
and when I face
its immeasurable underside,
there’s nothing behind it.
Only a darkening space
for me to curl under. Snug
in the spell of a cradle
rocking, I remember
the first time I floated
on my back as a child,
the unflappable calm,
as if I were slipping into
the future where the light
was waiting to come back,
and where I would find
my lost breath again
after I drowned.

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