The Fall Through
Night is full of animals
they’re always there
you see how ground is woken
by morning all the leaves
live and die alongside those trails
and light ways, it can be noisy
as well as cars, trains, planes
and some distant event.
All this travels the ground
unless something climbs.
Presumably there’s death
and violence, even if the sound
doesn’t carry. Presumably.
Though you know nothing
even when trains are still
going west to the coast
and sky roars with its metal
besides accident and need.
What happens is what is done.
By morning a feather, a scrap of fur
a shallow hole, something to fall through
letting go of attachments.
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