Poem Eleven: Law of Falling

*

Oh for the love of Galileo

blind in his later years

from looking so much

at the sun.

I draw you a braille map,

a feeling list made of living things.

We are falling yellow flowers.

Weightless incantations of gravity.

We are falling bodies.  

The sun in your hands.  

We are pulled by things 

we cannot explain,  

Who falls 

fastest?