Downy

A descending elegy, elegant
In its fall, as the notes, lines and ovals,
Form a bumpy downward slope. A green fan

Twirls with a drunken gait, currents pressing
Against the veins, pulling and pushing the
Leaf spinning and weaving downwards. A red

Flash in a straight path, making contact with
More than a little sound, leaving behind
Air, where it used to reside. Porcelain

Pristine and unblemished, makes a dash for
The core of our living, giving up its
Earthly form for something a little more

Scattered, a piercing sound heralding its
Transformation. Whirling edges in the
Air, controlling the wind and a light breeze,

Unhinge, and for a moment, they seem to
Defy belief, spinning as if they were
Suspended in space, in time, before the

Laws of nature grip fast, and it becomes
A falling whirlwind. When the ball flies high
And yet higher and still higher, it falls.