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Play by A.R. Ammons

Thinking of the fire trees at the university. Remembering what it feels like walking past them, under them, while the leaves are falling. It felt like fall. Wishing we had fall.

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A.R. Ammons

Nothing’s going to become of anyone
except death:
therefore: it’s okay
to yearn
too high:
the grave accommodates
swell rambunctiousness &

ruin’s not
compromised by magnificence:

the cut-off point
liberates us to the
common disaster: so
pick a perch —
apple bough for example in bloom —
tune up
and if you like

drill imagination right through necessity:
it’s all right:
it’s been taken care of:

is allowed, considering

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