The Art of Falling

by Kim Moore


The Art of Falling

This is for falling which is so close to failing

or to falter or fill; as in I faltered when I heard

you were here; as in I filtered you out

of my life; as in I’ve had my fill of falling:

a fall from grace, a fall from God,

to fall in love or to fall through the gap,

snow fall, rain fall, falling stars,

the house falls into disrepair,

to fall in with the wrong crowd,

to fall out of love, to fall like Jessica

who fell down a well and watched

the bright disc of the sun and moon

slowly passing, for twins who start

so close together they must fall

apart for the rest of their lives

or be damned, to fall down a hill

like a brother, to follow like a sister,

to be a field and fall fallow, to fall pregnant,

for vertigo, the cousin of falling,

for towers and stairs and pavements

which are the agents of falling,

for the white cliff top of a bed,

for climbers and roofers and gymnasts,

for the correct way to fall,

loose-limbed and floppy,

to fall apart after death,

for ropes and fences and locks

which carry the act of falling inside,

for fall which over the ocean

means Autumn, which means leaves

like coins of different colours

dropped from the pockets of trees,

which means darker evenings,

which means walks with the dogs,

which means walking alone

and not falling apart at the sound

of your name, which God

help me, sounds like falling.  

© Kim Moore