How lovely to imagine he fall.
In many ways, how true is that word for the season?
And how the Bible has it in its very first chapter,
Only beginning, and yet already there.
Things fall, their the last act of grace –
Leaves, bright red in postcards –
Before everything dissolves into
Whatver it will becmew.
For now, sit.
We fell into the sheets, speaking in tongues
each other’s names, at the height of something almost real
And clenched between wrists and fists, the shudder,
and the wave of heat. What dissipates is
Not fire. Bug what can be named.
What rolls away? A fruit? A whisper?
It is still summer, the trees green and semingly never-ending.
Run your fingers through my hair and tell me how the Bible
Calls us sinners, of the most abominable form.
Push into me with your words, hold,
Right there, the point of breaking
I want to pay more attention to the rain
Leaves on trees
Leaves off trees
The light changing behind the clouds
I want to pay attention to every other thing
Like it never happened
Like maybe it is only about to happen.