I see my otoliths are free and moving
And when head moves from bed wall
To empty space coming from balcony
I tend to lose all my forgetful gravity
Inside vestibular ear, free as they are.
Like calcium deposits in ancient caves,
Stalactite’s pearl fallings, drop by drop,
Their myths shall be poetry of old age.
And when otoliths come off in free fall
And get lost in vastness of a labyrinth,
The calcium shall return to a first cave.