
dropping
dropped to the floor
the gnarled wooden floor
red oak and rusty nails
the old man's face fell off
beside himself
his eye rolled neatly into the knothole
near his head
stiff whiskers
knobby knees
down to the floor
angry splinters
another head fallen into the stone sky
rang his bell
aloud
but not his cry
his face gone
ashes in an urn
no cats to scrape the shape
no wife
for him to return
marbles for eyes
skin of cloth
a damp lily left in his socket
no more sight
no light
a dead moth
flew out
of his mouth
ears deaf to the swallow
not in his throat
but to the sky they don't sing
here anymore
not since the year
that the day ended early for him
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