Unshackled, I rise from
my confinement,
I step on the window sill
and put my chest
under the autumnal stream
that planets gain and spill.

I fall as does a pear
under the gardener's blade,
to miss his palm and disappear
in the root-woven mud.

I fall as does a stout
peacock when his flare
abruptly folds around the shaft
that pins him in mid-air.

I fall as does a slender tower
when a withered man,
buried to hold its pillar,
crawls out to be born again.

I feel night's fingers
run through my hair,
I spread beyond the garden's
borders, I am everywhere,
no different

from a pear shoot
flung up by a peacock's wings,
from a tower sprouting tall
above the crib that creaks and swings:

a momentary sum of all
coincidental things.