Saturday, November 10, 2012

A Fine Fall Day Draft II (a true story)

Fine Fall Day

It's a fine day for a fall.
Leaves smell fresh as the future,
air and stream cool as I am--
until I trip on the stump.

Okay, I say, be careful.  This time,
you didn't fall.  Feet on foliage make
lovely sounds, but ground, don't forget,
often likes to shroud things.

The same way back is as beautiful:
I follow seeds of poetry.  Yes, there's the field
asleep in the sun, the bridge over racing
water, and me, relaxed as treetops.
You'd think I'd have avoided the spill.

Yup, the very same stump,
but now I'm on hands and knees.

I'm no child anymore--gravity's
grown a lot pushier, and bones against
trail hurts more like hell than falling
from an Oak ever did. Thank God,
today, no one watched me go down.

Next time, I note, remember the car trunk--
that's where I've stored my walking stick,
glazed bole with ubreakable tip and a history
of helping me balance, even in slippery winter.

In the meantime, while I'm healing,
humanity, can you hear me?  I've
already taken the fall. Please,
don't forget our common fragility.
Remove the stumps entirely.

Draft 2
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