All those grains of sand rushing towards us at 32 feet per second, per second.
They whisper together, inform us that they’re solid:
a barrier erected long ago
well out of memory’s reach
not by hands but by
the coincidental workings of
accident and the Laws of Nature.
I tell you we’ll pass right through
And moving from the realm of clouds
into living stone will be glorious.
We’ll find the vast vacuums of space between each atom of
durable slickrock, limestone, and antimony—slip right through
not dodging, barely curving our backs.
And we keep falling as though our very lives depended on it.