#47

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it's a fall i've never known,
and it's scrawling itself
into my palms and
making a home
within my eyes.
it's one of thin gold lines
and crinkling copper butterflies.
it's one of hunger
and a restless sleep disturbed by a leaky
window that bathes in moonlight.
it's one of holding on to whatever tells us is there for us
to have and keep, though we rage against
the crows that mock us
in the streets below
and the cat that makes us beg
for a moment longer to spend in the too springy bed.
it's a fall i've never known,
and it's scraping my knees as i kneel down to greet it.
but it's pretty, and i am weak.
so i will kiss it's cracking feet.