Gravity
       

More and more there is a room
we never visit where a light bulb
slowly darkens with dust.

Suddenly a man gives up
on a park bench — watch
how he tears bread and
scatters his life
thumb by crumb to the birds.

By sunset he's gone.
Only this rain
adding weight to the river.

Such small music this might be
heaven: A hundred tiny hearts
roosting together in the bone-
white arms of the sycamore.

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Copyright © 2013 Brent Goodman All rights reserved
from Far From Sudden
Black Lawrence Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission