A Geometry of Falling

Felix Culpa, O Happy Fall

1

Think of a woman
vacuuming her stairway rug

beneath a window’s
angled stare,

pausing only
to notice

in rhombic light,
a diamond fractal of carpet

or to lose herself
in frenzied sound,

till she sees she’s on
a spondee and words

Ping-Pong from her brain.

2

Some say pomegranate but I say
apple, Eve’s tempter,

now thurifer of Autumn air.
The wind coaxes

Cortland branches to drop
their cider-bound load.

Shadows toss their lanky limbs
upon the vesper earth.

Barn swallows skim the ground
and rise again, skim and rise,

the rapid gradient
of their flight

almost a stumble.

3

A Tuesday morning.
I’m at the kitchen sink when

my son walks in.
For you, he says as

a stone spills
from his fingers, descends

like a tangent
to land

heart-shaped (yes)
against my soap-wet palm.

We trip from grace
to grace,

O Happy Fall.