Free Fall

by A. Diao Lavina

Distance functions as unwitting magnifier.
Assumptions mingle with memory, temporary
nosedives into unwanted terrain.

Maimed, the paratrooper boards and jumps
again, neglecting the shape
of space and in 12 seconds the terrific

hum of nerves, terror just
before the cord is pulled,
ground rushing 32 ft/s/s.

Justice in this sense means a lesson learned,
intimately, though not exactly.
Lessons learned cannot necessarily mean

lessons willed into the memory of motion.
In flight recklessness invades the falling, the body
an airborne remembrance of precision.

Many know only the snap
of seconds, the use of fingers,
the idea of gentleness.

Intuition summons acts
of survival, evolutionary nips from an ancient flask,
like Achilles become levelheaded all of a sudden.

Overtures cannot ever sway those

very circumspect. Act Three, Romeo and Juliet.
Essentially, higher elevations mean harder falls:
Why jump in the first place?

Inevitably, the assumptions made turn
into speculative belief, hearsay borne
from questions answered but never asked,

as years swarm around a single moment,
obvious yet elusive like the color of water
underneath the weight of rising earth and falling sky.