A gravity poem:
“The Geometry of Gravity,”
reads the card of the museum’s display
where metal spheres are leisurely launched
along the lip of a parabolic funnel.
They eddy in a sort of perpetual motion,
their descent as imperceptible as inevitable.
Early on, they collide, kissingly,
as the longer rolling elliptically hoist themselves
into intersecting orbits.
Fresher launches define their fall
with ever increasing velocity
into accelerated, deeper orbits,
more stable, circular and unique.
Their increasing forward speed
diminishes their descent
till they blur into fevered coils
hung stationary at the funnel’s neck.
They vibrate aggressively
into ghosts that vanish into the mechanism
that invisibly replaces each along the lip
of this metaphoric model of the human condition.