My Heaven Fell Poem by Patti Masterman

my heaven fell, lost to the centuries, just as the dawn was being born;
just think how easily, a child's knees gravely mistook stones for poems
as sunny lovers dreamt the night before had died twice, in its sleep
before the wrong hour was nearly done, hearing the drunken fountain's laughter;
and people dying even now, whose smiles were never happy;
whose passion was ripped apart slowly, inside madly blushing houses
whose shuttered eyes hated the nearness of other desirable streets;
enshrined in the whore of afterbirths, who knew just the right words
told to the butterfly in secret, of how to fly from time's angry claws;
and how the sun overhead secretly cries, passing out his day-drizzled prose.