threshold

the world tilts & tilts again. somewhere, you are caught midair in a polaroid, but whether you are jumping or free-falling, you cannot say for the same reason no one can say why the land unwinds beneath itself. your mouth agape, arms outstretched past the longitudes of longing, watch the moon bruise itself against horizon & call it morning. the tender, merciful tremor of your body flailing is another way of saying return, highways ending in river. you, small thing, shining against the pull of it, learn that falling and reaching are the same gesture seen from opposite ends of time, that to love anything is to lose your way back. clothes petal off your body like the skin of a pear, a toothless silence lingering between the soft animal of your lips. you, small thing, reaching, still—faithfully devoting yourself to gravity. in the brevity of it all, there is no ground & there is no sky. whether this is suspension or surrender it is the same. it is all the same.