.
falling’s weightlessness is troubled
not like the airtime of up-drafting hawks
or homo sapien gliders hung under silk billows
out of their element, flaunting gravity, taking on airs,
nor like the honking camaraderie
of southbound geese chasing solar flares
in a world of muscle and blood
to know that speeding mass in collisions
brings bereavement is usually enough
to keep most breathers from dancing on edges
or diving off ledges
by a wise prescience we understand
that freefall without orbit
must be a heavy kind of weightlessness
no matter how long its freedom lasts
once gravity’s die is cast
biology’s more temporal
than stone and steel
in falling minds minutes are surreal
and time expands as down and down
mind falls or coasts
as future shortens past grows richer
and now’s edge is honed so fine
as to split the hairs of ghosts,
and life ‘s full-tipped to spill last hours out
which cling to sides of tissue pitchers
past becomes a fuller world, more here,
which is why old fallers often go there more
than fresh faller do, who, still green
and falling feel only wind-in-hair exhilaration—
the sheen of mornings crisp and new
being blessed to not fully grasp
that they are falling too
.
.
by Jim Culleny
10/28/13
Blink 