A branch breaks at the top of an oak, clatters through the too-loose grips of lower limbs and lands in the new snow’s too-shallow grave.
2 Comments
Comments are closed.
Previous Post: Previous Post
Next Post: Next Post
A branch breaks at the top of an oak, clatters through the too-loose grips of lower limbs and lands in the new snow’s too-shallow grave.
Comments are closed.
Permalink
THE FINAL FALL
A bough burdened with foliages
swings wildly with winds wound
through woods that must rot
somehow when growing skyward
stops, pulling these branches away
from ungathered stars. A broken
branch clatters through weakened
limbs that would not save its fall
into a frigid grave of new snow:
it is the axiom of growth, that one
dies as soon as the climb has gone
higher than is needed to tickle
the ribs of gods who would rather
not find a jaywalker in the sky
who has dared stray into sublime
pathways that are also diving cliffs
of those who strive to live not lose.
Either way, it is a hard final fall.
—Albert B. Casuga
02-08-12
Permalink