reading this,
you're falling
swiftly
through midair;
each word is
a cloud
which first sounds
like a mattress
til you blow
right through it
without slowing down.
But the good
news is
there's a turn
at the end
which is rushing up
to center itself
under your fall—
not with
the pillow
of relevant info,
but the small
silk-soft
pleasure
of knowing
in an instant
that a poem
can support you
after all.