Strange to See Where
Strange to see where things land
once loosed, unhanded.
Leaves can plummet or travel,
carried by their own lack of mass.
A swath of purple flowers
along one side of the highway,
thick and bright as a stripe
of paint. Paint, for that matter,
one whole wall wet, and
drops of white freckling a cheek,
pulled up by the underside
of a shoe and tracked out the door.
Sand in the car’s upholstery
a year after the beach. A wobbly
pine seedling planted decades ago
solidly unfolding, growing, and
from its wingspan needles falling
to form a decomposing alphabet.