At the edge of the world

I sat at the edge of the world
my legs swaying in the air
my arms hugging my chest
my eyes watching wild ferns  rustle
my breath warm

I sat at the edge of the world
looking
for
the six year old me
in smooth round pebbles
like silvery tears
that I would have collected
if the six year old me were here now

looking for the six year old me
in frost-glazed holly
hanging on pine branches
like the smell of Christmas Eve
that I would have picked
if the six year old me were here now

looking for the six year old me
in wisps of clouds glowing
in sunset gold
like crystalline glass
that I would have pretended were alive
if the six year old me were here now

looking for the six year old me
in golden  treetops
showered with sunlight
and wonder
that I would have climbed
and called out to the world
if the six year old me were here now

looking for the six year old me
in white daisies
their center like bleeding egg yolk
that I would have made a crown out of
if the six year old me were here now

but she’s not

I sat at the edge of the world
with my 15 year old self
my 32 year old self
my 54 year old self
my 23 year old self
my 85 year old self

and we all sat together
and we had a silent toast
to the 6 year old self
that we all lost

I sat at the edge of the world
my legs dangling in the air
my arms still by my side

my eyes closed
welcoming darkness

my breath silent

at the edge of the world
everything
is usually
silent