Cast Down Like Lightning
Out for a stroll one autumn evening,
as the wind sweeps from leaf piles
whatever it can grasp,
I pass by an apartment tower
from the fifth floor of which
I find not leaves falling,
but the cacophony and disruption
of accusation and dismay,
of a broken trust making an impact
as clothing and furniture and artifacts,
rendered aerosol, scatter themselves,
interrupting my course upon the way.
I contemplate four things,
the last ones.
Oh, my lover,
my jealous lover!
How terrible it will be
should you look on my infidelities!