Like a bat, you cling with others to the wall of a barrel,
headhandsbackheels pressed against its sides.

Moments ago you stood
on the solid platform grounded

by this excursion to the county fair
but not yet by what it portends.

Too frightened by other rides, the Bullet
or the seasick Ferris Wheel,

you chose the barrel's tall walls
and gradual tilt from horizontal to vertical.

You did not—do not to this day—
know how you can think yourself securely anchored in time

then have everything you knew about gravity
vanish in seconds.

Who hears your shrieks
left back there in frozen hover?