Poems for the Fall

“Why Was I Born Without Wings?”

The sky is an open door,
and yet I can't walk through.

The limits of two feet.

“Van Gogh Musings”

Green leaves melt into the canvas.
The sun--a yellow aperture
into a netherworld of yearnings
unknown, unknowable.
My hand lays the brush down;
my eyes give careful rise
to introspection:

Where did the scythe go?
Why are the crows leaving?
Who is this for?

I lift the brush again,
dab some final touches
before heading out the door
into a world just as soft,
just as permeable. My eyes
know what my hands have done;
I melt into the world outside...

“A Fugue in the Key of Roethke”

I go where a body needs to go.
I breathe. I feel.
I touch and interact.
I manage to stay alive
despite years that crush me,
pulverize my bones,
addle my brains
and leave me bereft of solace.

I go where a body needs to go.
My feet glide here and there,
sometimes leaving a trace
but more often than not
invisible to all who come after.
I'll be forgotten
eventually, rendered absent
in the minds of everyone.

I go where a body needs to go.
I'm going away, my body
a castoff piece of clothing.
How long will it take
before I taste the air
without my senses?
How long before I walk
without the guiding force of feet?

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