Who can know for how long you’ve been falling – Maya McOmie

Who can know for how long you’ve been falling—

until the vastness, dim and spare,

discretely legible and worn with use,

is no longer referred to by its real name.

You were drawn in, lungs first. Of course you sank.

Perceptibly finite, repurposed, just

like everything else. But all those who sink

were at first needed. Not your fault if the

blood is too warm, and love too circular

to last you. If only there had been less

of it all. Some day, you keep thinking,

you too will arrive at its deep deep core.

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