If someone told me five years back
that I’d never left—but no, I needed
I had to play one more kind of fool
and step off another cliff, with a different-colored rose
in my teeth.
Even upon impact, in the midst of the latest shattered role,
Love was the only thing that ever made sense.
I’d find myself somehow
walking the path to the top of the next ridge,
tasting a thorny stem. Again.
Last time, the fall was so long as I looked from the edge,
Grace had other ideas.