I opened the eye of Orion to watch the summer flicker
Downward like a fist-full of crinkled paper.
Some pique with seasons, others pique with time.
As if she eased the tips of those trees to her white-bright match
The hillside woke to embers, over and over, back to the gravel.
A child, entranced by their dance, she points them into step with
Her pink un-ringed finger. She thought perhaps
she would be more graceful. I want to tell her:
It’s falling. When you stand again, then, they will applaud.
Meet My Twin Poem: Poem 73 Revised