And Then I Walk

A pendulum swings
bisecting my being
not vertically as expected,
which would allow disparate halves to swirl,
spinning into spirit:
a rainbow sparkle.

But instead
it slices air above my calves
and though it never touches
I am unable to move.

It begs
my apology
for the intertwining droves
that I summon
with my life.

It begs
my continued yearning
and unceasing devotion.

It begs
my complacency.

And so it swings.

And then I wake.

And then I walk.

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