Gravity.

In meditation we speak of things arising.
Thought, feeling, sense-state. You = cloud puff,
hover, dissociated blur, whatever boils up, is body.
But my experience (in here) is of falling. Close eyes:
see gray plasma, gravity. Heart-attacked hawk, dropping
out of sky, seen through penthouse glass—now, spelunking,
where it lands who knows might as well be other world down
there distant car horn screech owl drop penny terminal velocity
split head go right in like gumball machine
                                                                           ...sparrows were feeding
in a freezing drizzle / that while you watched turned to pieces of snow,
Nemerov wrote. Riding a gradient invisible / from silver aslant to random,
white, and slow. We are plummeting down a well, with torches in our hands,
Sullivan said Shklovsky said. Trying to read the signs on the walls as we fall. The
shapes we glimpse are the sum of human—
                                                                            snow, bird, coin: everything is falling.
That’s the bad news, said Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche. Good news is, we never
hit bottom.