The sky, and I am falling
With the music of twisting wood
And august
Standing beside a poison lake

Falling, and September follows deer tracks,
Looking for itself,
And falling men build the world while everything is falling
Falling around the Sun,
Swinging around the Moon.

Then the world crashes through something called October,
A concert of gusting wind
And streams of discarded leaves blow into the purple lake:

Even poison is a part of nature--
The metal organs of machines cough up black smoke,
Crude spires are lifted into soft blue skies
While on the broad, but falling ground, a young stag stands beside.

See the herds of cars lined up,
Hastening bodies along their cosmic paths
And November crashes to the ground with a dull thud.
A chilling rain begins to fall
On the cold grass of Lenapehoking Pennsylvania.

Oh, those native bones can feel the cold rain seeping through the Earth.
Just like American eyes can watch objects of the world being hurled through through the sky,
With all the planes, pilots and passengers praying to Buzz Lightyear.

December hesitates to even start.
But it comes, with all its frost, and gathers human hearts.
Nested in the glow of houses, moored against gravity
They can forget about falling for a while.