Something stutters, falls out of a tree.
If this were the tropics, it could be
a coconut, a banana, an animal walking
too far out on a limb. If this were the
tundra, it could be nothing, there’d be
no tree, nothing to fall. On the other
hand, if you live near the equator, you
equate the tree with the heat, another
leaf that leaves you no shade. You think
this could hurt someone, but it could
not. You think everyone’s paying attention
to this event, the world centers on the tree’s
language, the gerund of its fall. This is
all from where you are standing, your position
in the shade of these branches, the angle
of the sun. But then a stranger passes by,
taps you on the shoulder, asks if this is
your first fall, says don’t worry, there’ll be
others in your sight and others not,
everything’s going to come out all right.
Revision
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