and dreading
it's impossible to take back the landing
after the fall
the silence; the fall was mythical
and now seems sordid
trampled beneath your feet--
in my mind's eye.
What's reality but a cessation of mid-air moments
a reintroduction
to the solidity
the grayness
of dust.
In each moment, I despise and long for that plunge
foward-falling ( not backward-glancing )
in limb-trembling air.
But here I am,
on earth again,
scoffing at the foolishness of the fall.