Marion Johnson

They fall, I fall

Its cliche how my mind is pulled 

Towards an infinite ripple of you

Within each leaf, tangle, and stain

Its you, its you

Its you!

How much in common you have with a leaf

They fall

I fall 

we both trip and I land in a universe in which 

The clouds part, gray—they fall and all of a sudden

My cotton clothes fall off me

I blush at my own reflection, 

Is this what you saw?