Under the Creaking Roof

With eyes closed 
I can stretch out both arms 
and finger the air, find nothing there.

Space is full of grass and gulls, 
lungs open and close easily here.
With scrunched eyes and upturned nose 
I can sniff the air rhythmically - 
suck and blow.    

In surprise I see flat white 
all around, no markings score the ground -
all is pale and still, and open 
to an honest soul pushing forward 
tentatively 

to a sturdy launching from the rocks -
to wheel and call in the blue abyss below.

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