Poem 59

growing up sucks. we’ll get there.

I opened the eye of the universe to watch the summer flicker
Downward like a hand-full of crinkled paper.
Some are mindful of the season changes; others are simply mindful.
As if she touched the tips of those trees with her lighter
The charred essence ethereal of their descent captures me yearly.
As a child entranced as they dance she points them into step with
Her little 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