losing our grip on purpose

By Adrianne Oldham

I feel raw and juicy
like a new leaf
emerging into morning light

blinking,
disoriented

curves and spirals and angles:
Where are my edges?

This would be theater
or ballet.
Time signature lapses.
There must be a logic.

Have I form?

I stare. All I can,
as invisible darkness
channels lucid nourishment.

Day after day
I wait
for a certainty that never
seems to come.

Adrianne Oldham lives, writes and teaches in Berlin, Germany.