The Newly Dead Are Come To Ground - A Dear Incomprehension Poem Poem by Warren Falcon

Dear Incomprehension,


all our Sun goes nova


blossoms perform for eyes

conform trees toward affinities

for seasons


rooted they are

and remain in place

are places without

envy of motion they

even fall or parts do

which does not

surprise the sky

or dirt


all hurt seems born

to every option

seems to some how

know every plot


So let all

verb tenses confuse themselves

for seasons


the newly dead are come to ground