A light head hits heavy things: Loss

out of auspicious succulences we fall
as days go, and they fall fast in this life,
this nation, this terminus in history,
this spiny sullen habitually vain man,
our dive is marked by shrieks

Head hitting rock. Rattling
menacing, braying. Death's clamour

leaves nothing From everything

only the child love noises and

open air, like in the holy land

when even now, already the wind

is blowing dry dust away
where soft flowers once grew