the great lawn

ah, the damp underbelly
of fall, yellow leaves
sighing their way to the
cold
wet
concrete, somewhere
deep in central park.
three falls round
and i'm still here, still
beating, in this
tiny apartment slash town
and, from what i can tell
it's impossible just
to slow down, just
for a minute or two.
the sunsets and
walks and
smiles and
lovers and
dancing and
whiskey and
painting and
waiting have all been
the cold
wet
concrete
under my feet, these
three falls round,
one foot in front
of the other, in front
of the other.
central park awaits my re-entry,
as i bait
the carrot in front of
my horse, to lure me back,
to say good-bye.
the first fall round
was too hard
on my bones.
but by
the last, i
think my
walk in the park
will be much lighter
than the first, saturated
concrete and all.

~k.