It’s the empty bliss between heartbreaks.
The second your clinging fingers let it slip
over the cliff and in your lightened grasp
colour floods back to your hand,
red rivulets rushing to warm
your desperate flesh.
It’s the golden pulse around you
when at last you reach the surface
and seize your first grasp of air.
Where straining ceases,
the casement flies open
and all that’s ever been floods in
– more than you could ever dream –
till the tears run
at the kaleidoscopic freedom
that was waiting all along.