Potato Heads stampede off an edge.
Three feet into the air each hesitates, legs kicking,
suspended by hope alarm futility.

None memorize exactly
the dream-space between the jump and the ground.
Some close their eyes. Some look down.

(Something rises inside each falling
body-- a soul a diaphragm.)

Some wobble around the chasm floor, collecting
arms and feet between plastic lips.
Some roll into the earth like embryos.