kind of

It's like -
d'you know the feeling? -
standing at a cliff edge
and your body leans forward.

To fall would be
a letting-go of mask and of self.
I know I won't go mouthing
unheard, a brief and sharp singing
in my head.

I will drop
in incomplete phrases
and lie there, laid open.
I know I will think back,
curved back on the rock,
my arm crooked at the elbow, fingers kneeling.

Or, I might glide and then
float, for the air was open
and I took it
and it forms an oil,
a thrust of warmth,
a care, kind of