At 3 o’clock on a Sunday morning, when you finally lost your grip.

Leaping back
from the edge
in a gentle, enviable way.
As you had in the beginning,
leaping forward
into life
with a smile and a wink.
But now
that I look more closely
it seems more that you
lean, not leap.

Yes.
Leaning.
Resting on the laurels of your years.
Settling back into
the space between space
with a sigh
and a slight gasp.
But not falling.
No,
not falling.

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