The Midnight Paintings.

He awakens without weight,

suspended in coolness.

His gaze

is caught in the vastness above him.

Then it hits him,

the way a fly swatter greets its pray;

that is from whence he came.

His breath feels yet illusive from that free fall,

and he can't help but wonder,

what it was that robbed his lungs.

Was it the lack of control?

The fear of doom?

The Uncertainty of that which quickly approached?

And where did his lungs find stability once more?

He can feel them now,

Their expansion and contraction,

in diligent and determined succession

like the beating wings of a bird

trying to stay suspended in the air.

That's when he notices a feeling

that is yet unfamiliar to him.

It seems something like a

trickle from the skull down to the toes.

He discovers that his eyes

Are the source of the leak

and their release

reverberates through his whole being.

Is this what peace feels like?

The waves that kiss his body

seem his only tether to the earth now

and he is engulfed in the tranquility

of the mind's dispersion.

He has found himself once more,

and this finding feels much like

the warmth of an old friend

who you've not seen in years.

Suddenly,

The world seems softer.

Not kind

Or gentle,

but softer somehow

and filled with the dullness

of light filtered through the cloud.

the breeze whispers an apology then,

It's sorry for all the yelling,

and it's wondering if he might like to dance.

He would.

And he thinks he might like to stay here a while.