Things don’t fall
so much as the world rushes up
to meet them where they float
everything’s falling
so nothing moves
apparently

my heart drops
dips on a steep rise
when I see you these
skittish palpitations

slow loping
gravity hang-glides
free-fall
alighting gently

touchdown running
on the soles of my feet

so solid this ground
curves under me

perfectly bouncing
I’m buoyant

on ground sponge
baked in rain

still falling
on planets

big rocks
in mid-air

as a failed aerialist
I know the last fall’s hardest

to mistime
to lose heart

to miss the palm of the hand
outstretched in mid flight

people don’t fall
so much as the ground rushes up
to meet them

everyone’s falling
apparently

© Carlos Chagall, 2013

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