Untitled Hanging like a late autumn leaf       like a falling snowflake in an updraft       like a loose tooth       like the one remaining chance I think I see the ground. I hope it's there below my feet. I know it cannot catch me       it has no arms       it has no intention of lending hands. I think it is hard like thick dried mud       like scraping pavement       like cold smooth ice       like what I've known it to be       before. I think I see the ground. I hope it's there below my feet. I think it's not so far below now,       like anticipation, worry, desire, angst--       it waits. I wait for it to break       my fall, it waits to break me. Slowly I let go of my hold       like a desparate climber at the edge       of a cliff holding on with his fingertips       I lift one at a time, daring gravity       to tear me down--slowly Down to the ground I think I see, the one I hope--and fear--is there below my feet. C