would be the first word
an apple, fallen, breathes
to the ground. It rolls, sullen.
While sunlight, air, mist,
dabs its bruises
with a kiss.
April 24, 2013
This summer, I lost in a game I played with my students in class. The consequence for anyone who lost was to show the class something special that you can do. So I stood there with a pen and the whiteboard and asked them to throw at me random words at random moments. I just let the words work their magic.
Now, the class is almost over. I almost couldn’t believe it.
I can still hear the apple breathe.