walking in the woods
there are dew drops scraping
against your cheek as we walk,
swept across your skin by the oak leaves.
you are quiet.
your breath catches sometimes,
like you are about to say something, and then it runs away
and your thoughts go with it.
you are contained, walking slowly, limbs lumbering
across the path, arms swinging but otherwise silent,
still, your own world pitted against the rest of us —
with this world,
with the trees, the dew,
the drumming of boughs against the sky.
where do i fall?
fall: tumble, catch, roll, down. up again, sometime. fall with, over against, for. (s)
where do you fall
against this world—or your own?
when do you fall
and can i come too?
Eva Rodrigues is a poet from the Canadian prairies who currently lives on Vancouver Island. She has been writing almost as long as she has been breathing, and has previously been published in Room Magazine and YARN and performed at the Winnipeg Fringe Festival.