It is hard to accept the truth
that falling can be a good thing.
Like falling into a pitch-dark room
to look for the things you’ve lost.
Like falling between the page and the pen
to pause the expression of the inexpressible.
Like falling backwards into the sea
to leave an imprint on the floor.
Like falling from a climbing tree
to kiss the concrete.
Like falling in love with your own breath
to slow the onset of death.