The Downfall
“Freddy, Freddy!” I cried
seeing the falls like spinning coins and he
falling with them, and his voice
I didn’t hear—the water
carrying it down to the stones,
and thick black clouds
cut their veins: thick rain on the stones:
the trees like the bodies of goats
on the Greek fields, those half-men
who blow like throats the reeds of death;
and the sun broke
Free…
Knee-deep in the lake—
“Freddy!” Sun whistling plovers
fanned the warmth of the weather
until the hills shot stars
at the moon fields. Freddy
was down there still in his coat.
Oh the white, funny look on his face!
A lake in his lungs
and a reed in his throat.