Strange to See Where

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.