What happens when
you drop a pen
to find that you have reached the end
of the gravity we took so long for granted?

And with our heads
up in the clouds
we cover Newton’s words in shrouds
and place them in the earth that just released us

And then at night the moon floats free
of chords that held it faithfully
and the unseen lines that throughout time
have bound it

And when the moon is too far gone
we’ll fragment as we bid, “so long,”
to the sun which has forever
been our mooring

on the day we cut our solar ties
and float into uncharted skies
we’ll smile as we proclaim ourselves,

but then in life post-gravity
will there still be a place for me
to stand as we watch footings fall apart

’cause in this ever-“widening gyre”
it seems the stakes grow ever higher
for a plot of solid ground to call our own

and oh! if such a place exists
I’ll call it mine and then dismiss
the state of anarchy that gravity has entered

but in the end will my dismissal
be enough to halt the missle
whose well-intentioned strokes of ink, our world unanchored

or will the touch of pen to paper
reduce the solid world to vapor
and leave us all with an inheritance of wind