seeing the edge of a shape

A calm I first knew 
in the warm sting 
of Miami beaches 
in the swell of 
a wave was 

enough to hold 
my attention, 
thankfully, 
a relentless 
press. 

Could I be free 
from chains I was 
born in like my 
mother and hers 
before 

to allow them 
to break away 
even as they 
bruise 
and clank. 

Because this place 
can make a person 
unable 
to feel or see 
what is right 
in front of them 
when the image 
blurred 

by sad memory 
or old pain 
seems as real 
as it gets- 
so loud, 
demanding 
we remember 
everything 
to survive 

and we 
try to carry with 
love, without 
being angry 
and with all 
the fragility 
still, so 

we will not become 
the darkness, 
we might become 
the very thing 
that keeps balance. 

Some say 
this world is soft to 
lessen the blow, 
and I feel the 
partiality of it 
limiting- 

I cannot 
in hand hold 
this beautiful place 
the complicated petals 
layer upon layer 
like a chrysanthemum 
without holding 
the dark, as it is 
between each 
shining edge 
a defined line 
showing 

this petal and that petal. 

And instead of running 
from everything 
known 
like I did at first 
like happiness 
was a thing 
ran into, suddenly 
behind a door probably 
someone else opened 
waiting to be found, 

one day, I began to see 
in places that 
cannot be touched 
by perspective 
too much like 
on a snowy, narrow 
pass in the Cascades 
where my heart 
could still 
its panic: 
in that moment 
a rush of wind 
is beautiful 
because I live- 

I knew to go 
looking after 
the waves. 

And the vast words 
held too long 
unsure of how 
to say them 
having not defined 
what was indefinable 
could split ice 
and rock 
beneath the places 
I kept running 

and I would simply 
slide 
for awhile. 

It took some years 
to become still enough 
that my own shaking 
could not unground 
my thoughts/ 

and longer 
for the hold 
to take place 
that is space kept 
for knowing things 
as they are 
as much 
as is possible 
in any moment 
without needing it 
and with all 
the uncertainty 

where I could look 
at what had happened, 
these chaotic moments 
and grief 
that could crush 
who I believed 
myself to be, 
to look back instead 
with love for the sake 
of love and gratitude 

that I was myself 
all along, especially 
in the rainforest 
walking, or with hands 
digging into the ground 
another living thing 
having not much choice 
in things, like lavender 
with its sweetness 
for no reason 

to give it water 
when it would not rain,
part of the learning. 

Can you see 
where the heart 
will survive 
by it’s aching, 

running to be free 
knowing what is 
and isn’t worth 
staying for, 
is as basic as 
need of air 
if in a place 
a person feels 
their own thoughts 
cannot be trusted 

when it is mostly 
the thoughts of others 
like a sidewalk, broken 
but you try to run 
and trip. 

But finally 
to hold still 
in the calm of 
knowing the dark 
as it is, dependent 
upon that which grows 
and thrives/ maybe 
a glimpse 
on a mountain pass 
quiet enough defines 
the edge 
of your self 

when it is difficult to see, 
you have held it.