By Shir Livne

Your eyes scare me a little.
That cliff stare like a hazy step into pupil.
If I reached out to touch them,
what would I find?
Some inky cells and a forgotten blink,
perhaps.
The floor easing out from under me,
in free fall for a minute, maybe even a millennia.
I could fall past when solid ground existed.
Rush through murky air,
and we will be those two atoms,
there.