falling

we are all pregnant,
gravity filled to fall

and falling birth
in a plot of earth
riper ground filled

(as humus with the fetid pear
and quince, plum and peach)

with grains and grains of dirt
made by blood and bone
muscle and brain
again what first it was

though more with more
and more of traveled space
without and within,

such a parturition
into the air of soil
by soil, removed by

contraction to welcome
in such a firm room
our waiting family

once pregnant before
now fallen
and there with us abiding

in silent music
of newest dust,

the world remade
in a where
we more than wear,

in a where we are,
in the blanket of us
we have to spread

open to receive each
falling newborn
falling in


John Kryder



Poems