Things that Fall from the Sky

poetry

elvis sequins falling from sky

Things that Fall from the Sky 

Wally S is setting up his purple-leaping element.
A small trampoline to merge with the sunset.
But just as his feet turn to violets, someone
moves his homeroom chair from under him.

Music is all around
though we may not be able to hear 
from the din of our human instruments. 

Your voice has always been that which always is--
the arranger of the great verb tense convention. 
There’s a lilt on every floor. There is no ceiling.

Things will always fall from the sky: 
bungee poets in twilight twine, Crayola 
bits and wand shards, lovers in long blue
stockings, Elvis sequins, all the black 
and white beliefs you held sacred.

But we don't mind.  People don't fall in love. 
They rise in each other. From the bottom of the cave,
Mary Magdalene took the gravity of Jesus.
In the levitation of lovers, we shall taste and hear 

and rub our faces in it and not look down 
on that frail sweet wreckage, the limitations of the body
as it moves and lurches and comes to a full stop,
trying to hold what it cannot.