from bridges
and the brink
of cliffs.

Off of rocks
and ship decks,  
piers and lidos,

into oceans,
frigid lakes and 
opalescent seas,

over puddles
privet hedges,
brooks and felled trees.

I have leapt 
down throats
and subway stairs,

over cemetery 
fences and off 
of garden walls.

I’ve jumped
bones and onto
bandwagons.

I’ve leapt
and I have not always
looked before.

I am 
Gravity’s
prodigal son;

the rogue satellite
that punctures
the stratosphere twice,

and then 
comes hurtling 
back to earth.