unknown, whatever you envision as the cataclysmic drop into total
failure, or disappointment, or disaster, some precipitous nothingness
where you refuse, in your hardest heart, to locate yourself. But
what’s better than nothingness, that blank and soundless freefall?
How is it possible to enter, gracefully, a room
already crowded with furniture?
Here are your feet, your hands, your skin.
Here is the sound of your breathing lungs.
Here is the way you manage to make a meal
out of the castoffs in your cupboard.
Here is east and west. Here is 6 o’clock in the morning.
Here is midnight. Here is a piece of notebook paper.
Here is your history.
Here is your wisdom.
Falling will not change any of that.