47: coma in cantos, interlude 2


i stand on the edge of a leaf
perpendicular to a smoky floor
and a smoky sky

why a leaf,
such a fragile creature,
and why an edge,
why not the edge
of paper,
knife or wall,
and what leaf
would this leaf be,
and why a smoky floor
and a smoky sky
whorling below,
whorling above,
high above and far below
as I stand on the edge
of a leaf,
where I could fall
or, in another case, rise,
an odder case
but possible
in this case,
this image,
this image
that requires
some mastery
of balance?

i wonder if I would die
falling, die rising,
air blasting at my face
falling or rising

what wiould I see
breaking through the gritty smokes
and how would time change?
and what would be the duration of pain?
and what would be the aspect of my limbs?
and would observers laugh
and say, Looks like a puppet?
And what’s with that smile his lips make,
the mouth emptied of teeth on impact?

i’ve read about people
who brush off the dust
after falling from blimps
or giant balloons

but I’ve never read
about them falling
from leaves
to survive
and sing about it

One Comment