Leap.
There is nothing in front of you.
Oh that? Yes, you’re wise enough
to see a glint of something shiny
from the corner of your eye.
That’s glass. Just jump through
to what you can see on the other side --
that empty space. You can live there.
Don’t look down, don’t see
the tiger’s mouth, open and waiting below,
the waves that will catch and not release you,
the dark. It will be okay.
The opposite is true, of course.
The tiger will tear you to pieces.
The waves will pull you under until your knees scrape the gravel of a cold lakebed, your feet get tangled in the seaweed of the Pacific, your head comes to rest
gently against the smooth concrete at the bottom of the swimming pool.
The dark though, the dark will hold you like you’ve never
been held before, sweep through you, become you.
Your eyes won’t even work any more.
You won’t remember that you have them.
You won’t remember what light is.
Don’t believe me?
Jump.
All will be revealed.
Or you could just
stay where you are.
The tiger will keep sleeping
if you leave it alone.
The waves are content without you.
The dark? It will live on, too, elastic, velvet, silent. It will wait, like it’s always waited.
They don’t need you.
You need them.
