I remember learning that strangers typically feel comforatable at a distance of seven feet or greater from each other. I realized that that is just enough distance for most of us to fall and not be caught. That fact inspired this piece.
Seven feet is far enough to fall
And all the sounds that might mesh to make the air between
The ground and its prey, in accordance to a call
Do not care for a stranger, and so they do not intervene
And green becomes blackened with space and time and
Existence of a stance lost, in occupation,
An October spent together, then alone
And somewhere inside that line there does not lie yet
And there does not lie ever
The realization that the grass is coming clearer.