the knowledge of fruit falling from the harvest tree

 



if the sky
knows,
it does not say
a word

if the fence
outside the window
knows,
it does not share
it's thoughts

if the wind passing by
knows.
it will not whisper
it's secrets

if this sly, old world
knows,
then the answer is
lost to the ages

all i can do is sit,
smoke, think
and wait

as i watch my shadow
on the wall gather these
last ungraceful moments
that flail like a mangled
swan

then desend into
the ebony
orbit

and at last
I
will know

and
walk
that
forever
trail
picking up the spoiled
rind of fruit falling
from God's eternal
mouth