at arm's length

with both hands i hold out--
er, hold it out i mean; hold it out.
i see a bland backing, a muffled sight.
on your end: a window--
well, no not really that at all.
more like a mirror, yeah like that.
no but not a mirror in which you see yourself,
probably closer to a glare in your eyes.

the thing is, no one's really looking that hard.
it's a sort of overkill--
actually more defensive though, like a castle i saw once in switzerland
where the walls rose off rock to a hundred feet high,
but just on one side,
while the back had a gradual incline.

ok i've lost you.
well and to be honest i think i've lost myself a little bit--
hmm that's pretty profound, like a poem confusing itself,
or a life.
that or just ridiculous.

you see, i don't want to take things too seriously.
while at the same time i can't help but know the gravitas
that everyone seems to live as if it doesn't exist.
an apple's hit my head from this fourth-dimension force--
of course i'm no newton,
it is both nothing new and yet still not really accepted--like death.
who wants to be really real?

let's back up a second.
i fear i've held you off as well.
we can bury ourselves in all sorts of anything,
filled by insulation of great generalizations
or by empty space
hollowed out by shallow living
that passes for the deep end.
self-contained it is not,
and there is no lifeguard on duty.

good thing that everyone can float--
it's makes for a much better survival rate,

but we're not in a pool.
we've put out to the vast sea.
drifting along,
waiting for someone else to float on by.
lock arms and hold on,
not too tight though--then you'll sink.
just hope the wind doesn't blow too strongly.
are we guided more by the wind or the subtle current below?
heaven forbid we try to steer this little ship,
or press forward against the wind.
though if we're honest, why bother?
we don't really know where we're going anyway,
so we read our own stars.
navel-gazing and self-projection--er, protection.

this is the healing of my heart.
turning the underside over,
muffled and bland.
but at least one to see.
and as i bend my elbows
pulling back to my chest,
i drop the mirror--
shattering deception and distance.
let the cycle begin again,
the jagged line
back again--
but still,
a little bit further.
a little bit closer.