“Watching water run down a tarred road”

 

Rain does not fall

It is thrown-

Purposely, elegantly, divinely-

With deft hands and a fiercer arm

It’s been thrown.

Je suis tombé amoureux
de lui

I fall for the trappings of hedonism

I fall sick of my own limitations

I fall pregnant with silly hope and cloudless dreams

I fall in love

I fall out of love

I fall out of sight of my own ambition

I fall away.

The pebble forcing concentric circles in the lake is not fallen

With deft hands and a fiercer arm

It’s been thrown.

At the point of departure, a measurable energy for potential

At the point of impact, a measurable energy for momentum-

Purposefully, elegantly, mindfully

With deft hands and a fiercer arm

It’s been thrown.

The water slip-sliding down the tarred road has a compass within

Guiding it to fill out the punched-out holes in the yawning road

It finds a home in the holes of a long-ago tarred road

With deft hands and a fiercer arm

It’s been thrown.

I can’t fall anymore

So I’ll crawl a little deeper instead.