A Fear of Falling

On my back
in the orchard...
watching clouds
watching me,
soporifically,
drift on by.

A hollow thump;
over ripened plums
fall, one by
one, by one;
the zealous ones.

The ones feasted upon
by wasp and hornet;
the too eager
to be picked ones
end up rotting here,
carefully secreted
by marsh
and meadow foxtail.

The fallen;
easily forgotten.
Bloated and bruised –
fodder for crows to pick over
and maggots to devour.

I imagine how they feel;
those for whom perfection
comes and goes, unnoticed.

Yet still they fall;
each one
only once,
but their kind –
again and again...