You are a man falling forward,
running as hard as he can to keep his body under
the absurd point of his fall.
All around you the trees are nothing:
epiphenomena, because they are passed so quickly.
What would happen if you stopped, and stood for years
at the edges of the Ice Forest, in the barest growing,
listening to what is frozen at the center of your true seed?
Much lost; nothing so far replacing.
Falling can tell you that you are very much not someplace.
It hasn’t told you that you are not someone, yet.
Leave a Reply