what is it that falls from above
that lets one stretch his mind for love?
is it the net of stars that pins our arms,
or the sun that blinds us to the fight
of loving and wanting to run
the confusion of loving and the fun
of being in the same old place or
the stumbling to go back
to what we had before
there was this us
to you and me,
then getting up
to stick it out again,
the eyes and ears, nose and chin
so it feels all right, more or less,
to be giraffes, chewing for the juicyness
we get from the stuff they keep up high