Panicked to be Free

I stagger around in my thoughts…as if an open book

as if a locked attic with no key and skeletons that wish to be free

My panic sets in whether day or night

In small snippets I remember the daffodils, the farmland, the rebirth, the light

In small, form fit spaces…this is where the head and the heart fight

I assume nature is alarmed, possibly having already panicked years before

Perhaps, the reason for a locked attic door

Swimming

Darkness is a local swimming hole

I glide in and out of it everyday.

Delving about in my art…

exposing bits and pieces of my soul.

And, I flounder in my anger…when I do so.

I account for mistakes like lily pads that have gone astray.

I bargain with hopes and dreams…as though they were in rhythm with the waves.

A dance routine shown to less than a handful.

As stark New Hampshire waters pillage in my depth…I know I must not standstill.