How It Falls

 
Where there's feebleness in an eye,
there's a bigger coward
with opportunity in theirs.


Just the lonelihearts are covered in barbs
like strawberries dressed in seeds,
as if they know that time is falling.

Cues everywhere. Lights saying stop. Wait.
Life is a tree, you'd think, repeatedly.
On roads, on pavements. Red lights. Amber.
You can drive. Are you ready to carrion?

There's two small hand prints on a window,
they look like wings, mid-swoop.
A finger is a feather through rainy glass
and nobody has a face, but character.

She smelled just like the rain in spring
and you'll never notice until she's gone
and spring was always second to Autumn
until she's there.

Who is you? A collective insignificance?
Well that's not for me to say, and shouldn't
in such a small space that was mine;
now yours.

The streets were full to be quiet. Never the alternative.
Now the footsteps can be counted on fingers
that look like bark when pressed together.