Today, I Am Still There

Today the wind is warm

and carries scents that spark my memory.

Today, I am not here.

On a day much like this

I shattered my spirit;

splintered shards slid from my spine,

through shattered vertebrae,

and clung to cracks in walls,

then scattered on the wind. 

Today I can feel those fragments,

I can smell it in the musty scent of books

that takes me back to the house made of paper and words.

Some fragment would remain there, I know, 

even if not for the fall.

Today I smell roses,

I feel warmth against my skin,

and hear birds chirping hymns to the spring;

sometimes I can almost hear 

footsteps on the deck,

and I wonder

if I even miss the sun.

Today, I am still there. 

Today I can feel wind in my hair,

and if I close my eyes,

I can catch that fragment that still flies,

zipping past the sidewalks

on legs strong above the blades.

Today, I ride the wheels I long for.

I've always heard I was was an air spirit;

sound and scent my guides,

and today I remember the air

that held me up and watched me soar.

Today, I am still there.

Today I am free.

Today the water in my blood

is filled with salt,

and I inhale deeply,

supposing I can taste the sea spray

dancing on the breeze.

Landlocked, the relentless tide still pulls me,

and my lungs long to be flooded with mist

my ears with the roar of the waves;

called by a lost shard of soul

I cast long ago to the sea.

I've always thought

the soul was like a candle - 

lighting another

does not detract from the whole

for they are still part of the same flame.

But I've never been any good

with fire.