We climb up darkness and
fall back down —
Death
you don’t know
the half of it,
as one friend
said to another or as
one half of a lawn is consumed
by shadows.
An overcast afternoon
all of us under
the big tree. What part of a man
is a bookshelf — something
reached up to
or from which
words are brought down?
A lightbulb dangles
above the world. What hope there is.
