Tuesday Poem - Each Piece Falls by CB

                  EACH PIECE FALLS  
                     

                      The clock in the cul-de-sac marks the hour. 

                      We have wandered wide, allowed for poetry 

                      of a different kind; cadence and kerfuffle, 

                      the heart's rising above a familiar chaos 

                      of subjects. On the late afternoon wall, 

                      paintings in the making, canvas acrobats 

                      hanging on our every word. Bare feet yield 

                      to black water. Beyond the frame, life is 

                      a risky business. Jack-in-the-box. 

                      Angel. Thief.  Some days a blackbird 

                      at ease with the rhyme and chime 

                      of every unknown thing. Like the signs 

                      written in dust after vultures have flown 

                      or the bones a shaman rolls, clues clatter 

                      and scatter; each piece falls to earth 

                      and order, takes its place 

                      in the heart's vast chamber.

                      CB 2012

This week's Tuesday Poem editor is Eileen Moeller. She has chosen Jane Springer's What We Call Frog Hunting. 

"This is the last 2 a.m. song fit for poling a johnboat through the swam

so we may glide, quiet enough, to catch frogs with our hands. 

It’s the year Robertlee can’t afford a suit to take me to prom. 

Our flashlights tell the difference between alligators & sunken logs adrift in the dark. . . "