to whom are we beautiful as we go?

.

I wish I understood the beauty
in leaves falling. To whom
are we beautiful
as we go?

I lie in the field
still, absorbing the stars
and silently throwing off
their presence. Silently
I breathe and die

by turns.

He was ripe

and fell to the ground

from a bough

out where the wind

is free

of the branches.


–David Ignatow
Against the Evidence: selected poems

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