Easy Leaving Times

You lie under hawthorn berries,

watch them falling and rolling by.

Watch the way flower stems

slouch with each passing hour:

(brittle petals that crumble

as you rub them together like coins)

it’s a terrible thing to resist the wind.

And there are these moments

you wished you could ask the sun

god to make the sun sit still

but he doesn’t;

you wonder why time rolls

like uneaten hawthorn berries;

in bed, hungry and remorseful—

then there’s night carrying you far.