Each pear grows til the moment it is picked.
Ripest rains pursue its froth-colored sugar,
And the Earth, patient, waits with
An upturned palm.
Voices till in the branches as
The young wobble and
Dream of their next climb, fall, fall again.
In violation of what, it's natural to wonder?
Engendered to bloom and rescue the
Til the wrists ache from reaching and
Dreams assume that milky
In violation of what is this thing, exactly,
As the young play above with their understanding?
Here I am below them.
Eclipse Special:: Ben Sher on The Watcher in the Woods (1980) - I was lying on my parents’ bed alone watching TV on a babysitter night. It’s funny how, especially when you’re young, you don’t know when a movie is sudden...
1 day ago