Tonight, as I read in bed
of The dynamic between falling
and being caught— a kind
of ecstasy— the eye
shutters toward the window,
toward the old church steeple
with its peeling paint
and broken cornices, scudding
clouds still visible against
a rapidly darkening sky—
And then the tremor
in the foot,
along the leg, foretelling
how the body drops into
the well of sleep.
[LAG-other-response date=”04 01 2013″ url=”http://yeosi.wordpress.com/2013/03/31/small-stone-230/” title=”small stone (230)”]