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.