When I was young, and spiteful,
I held my brother’s toy through the window
and let it fall the shortest path,
headed for a six year old’s revenge.
I don’t know the laws that govern descent.
Regardless, they drive soft cotton flesh to meet
scraps of lawn
with sharp precision.
And there are laws that govern growth.
When plants grow towards the light they too
follow the path
which leads them soonest to their goal.
I see this on my sill,
a rose with golden sunlight on its green,
and golden numbers
in the spiral of its red
Beauty and efficiency can be kin,
but I do not see efficiency
in the down of your ear,
or the curve of your calf.
You could be governed by nothing so harsh,
even though I am falling for you
by the shortest path.
Originally published by AYLY, and Oxford Magazine.