The moment after the plan collapses,

Stars collide instead of shining,

Feet slip from solid ground,

Dance on rolling, ever changing, nothingness.

Will breath show up on cold glass, a moist palette, evidence of life?

Scrawl a message, but what to say?

Who will read it backwards and understand?

No parachute for the jumper,

Only air rushing past, the dream of flying,

A child’s thought that fades to reality.

Hit rock bottom and find the earth was always made of stone,

And my feet were made to walk upon it.