View From My Window

Falling Star

Tell me tearing teresita what was it
without the foolish pride of a football field?
Do you absorb the simple praise as mere
abstraction?  

Do you bend over in a field
of daisies to retrieve a simple flower?  I am
not born to be broken; I am not what living sees.
I cannot imagine my life as a continuous thousand
flames, but I would like to become the
candle.  Do you breathe the carnival into you,
and reflect upon the smell of cotton candy?  

This may be your
discarded fruit, collected in a candy dish;
the church will not accept a mere ration to get into
heaven.  

The dawn comes over the eastern hills; it is
not my foe to find the shade.  I am wary; where
is life of summer that begins on the other side
of the falling star?

(Note:  work in progress.)


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Falling Star

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