when I fall out of the apple tree
the world slows

like falling out of love
it is a gradual process

the stepstool and body cant in sync
then the pillowed thump of back and backside

coming to ground
head bouncing as an aftershock

I do not see the sky spin sideways
the ground rise up to meet me

though it does
I do not feel the old self fall away

the windfall of identity shattered
(oh, frailsome youth, this country mine!)

now it is late and I find myself weeping
my body slightly altered

pain is all around me but it’s not all mine
sometimes things fall apart

or fall open
I fall open like a book

you see the bruises flower in the margins
you feel the spine submit out of habit

and there is no going back
we cannot unlearn what is true