Gravity

I'm pulled within, towards the moon
and towards the sun at bitter noon
and towards the center of it all
a breathy, headlong, silent fall
through space

yet all around I see it, still,
a world that's fixed, not falling—
can you hear it, deep without,
that silent center calling?

And so I answer, not with voice
but very body, falling
towards something that I cannot see
that's beckoning and pulling

me to be as one with it,
but no, I'll tear, not fall, submit
to space that bends around my frame
though I cannot truly claim
decision in this matter

the later half of every book
is spun from the beginning
and all around, and round, and round
the world is turning, spinning

and in this mess of distant pulls
and pushes from some nature, force:
I find it hard, so very hard
to alter my fixed course

and so I dance, I try, to spin
my words into some meaning
my arms into a wreath of sound
my end, to my beginning

and in this mess, this dance of stars
this pressure from the sun of ours
I pause, just for a moment
while I fall