Plummet of heart to foot-sole —

Plummet of heart to foot-sole—

Of wing to thinnest skin,
blue strip of still
flowing water—

O for the countless times
I’ve tumbled through that hole
in the floor—

Gold tassels and cord,
billowing skirts, curtains
I thought surely curtains—

Down and into the sooty
dark, so far so far
I thought—

Bring me a measure
of that square of paper
where someone’s drawn

a constellation,
string rosy with knots
of light on which I hoist

myself up and up
as all things must
obey what comes

after the fall


In response to Via Negativa: Dropping.

1 Comment

  1. falling like a world full of alice, just as surreal,
    david’s write is dark and stark like jan svenkmajer’s alice

    hope feels like seeds you plant,
    something you have never planted before
    waiting to see what will emerge.
    stopping the dogs from digging it all out =)


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