Little falling persons,
you wake me up each morning now;
falling small & helpless, selfless, fading
morning glories, one hundred
stories down you dropped,
unstoppable against unspeakably dreadful sky.

Tiny little tindersticks in tailored
business suits, you sailed
out of your windows on the world
in shiny high heels & patent leather boots,
in waitress linens & busboy aprons-
you had no time to think about your spill,
unwilling Icarus that each of you became.

For you no wild blue yonder,
no stars fell on alabama
no smoke gets in your eyes
for you, this was no lyric plunge
into song & poetry- it was business,
just unfinished business.

It is not my intention to diminish you-
I watched you fall and in that moment
wished a saner destiny for you;
no slowly-building realization-
rather an evaporation,
spontaneous combustion,
instantaneous separation.

It is not my intention to diminish you,
your life, its fullness and its end;
Was it maybe your birthday,
had a bouquet of balloons
just been delivered to the office,
or a box of Krispy Kremes?
Was this the day you were to be promoted;
were you checking out your horoscope,
or typing out a letter, or a poem?
Were you going to tell your lover that
you've been cheating,
were you going to say the words tonight
I'm leaving you, and won't be coming home?

Tiny little fireflies,
we trapped you in a jelly jar,
punched holes into the lid so you could
breathe;
then let somebody steal you out from under us-
thrown into a furnace like so much garbage,
like so much trash.. debris.

Little falling persons,
incidental falling stars-
you wake us up each morning now;
you fall & flame
unknown, unnamed-
little burning moths
to sabbath candles drawn
in all our fitful, hellish dreams.