Cipitio, don’t you know the rain still falls in black & white

& every shade of gray in between is brushed aside?


People say I’m too pessimistic, too dark, too unlikely

to succeed, but I’ve seen a blade of grass turn blue


in winter & snowballs defrost into muck in California.

I know I’m impatient. An etherized patient, but what is


so wrong with failure. What doesn’t fall, can’t get back up.

The rivers are still running & only the nations have passed.


Cipitio, does it matter if you’re here to hear a tree fall?

A tree is still a tree which falls when falling is all it has.


Because a law was passed, the light of cracking has begun

to change its tense to fallen & there are so many birds.


Even though its height can be taken, it’s so sad, so small what

the weight carries when it has been faithful, steady & immeasurable.