Sunday, November 29, 2015

by Ruth Dallas

You ask me
     What I am saying
     In my poems.
What am I saying?
     That everything
     is falling from us,
     We, too, are falling;

And so this day, this
     Hour, with the sun shining
     in its customary fashion
     And the wind blowing the trees,
     You and I,
     Sitting behind windows
     Discussing poems,
This moment, every moment, falls,
     Is falling.

More precious
Than any fiery diamond
Is the flowering human heart,
     Opening like a poppyhead
     And like a poppy falling.

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