It was as if we rolled from nothing onto nothing

We were at an angle only falling provides, or carnivals

An uneven sidewalk square, The Gravitron when I'm 12

But no earth to fall from, against: we were space inching a crawl along itself

Imagine a popsicle stick kicked up from a car tire, caught on photograph

Imagine a pulse of light pulled in wave by the event horizon

Imagine the curl of her hair snipped by scissors 

and oscillating before it swigs like a blonde shot of icewatered whiskey

to the black plastic apron, dark as an esophagus, to the lap

We rolled like that

I tapped her on the shoulder and she tilted her book, she said mmm

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