It will be so much smaller than you thought.
No seas will part, no tempestuous maelstrom will consume, no sparking flames will engulf.
It will devour nothing and frighten no one.
It will be smaller than that.
The splinter coming free,
the damp impression your socks leave above your ankles,
the part where the horns come in.
The serrations that edge a blade of grass,
the horrible tenderness of a bruise,
and the enmeshing of feathers’ barbs
because without it
there would be no flight.
Like watching yourself take your first steps.
Like coming in from the rain.
It will be like this.
Small, precise, and palpable.
