Falling

poetry

Photo by Akhil Nath on Unsplash

Falling

After the convulsions of machine and humans
coughed, hissed and rolled to its final stop,
he kissed her forehead and said as he had
always done, Time has no dominion.

Walking round and far he finally found his car 
in the stupor of a spiraling lot on the 18th floor 
he made an offer of his hand to her, his passenger
One to steer, one to hold as he’d done for 42 years.

He didn’t observe the willowy curve, the barrier.
Lost in his mind, whispering to her about Time
he didn’t mind the falling, a lone leaf in Autumn
like the first time her eyes caught him.