Falling

Ah, I am falling into the flowers,

a slow undoing of my spine,

backward, descending

into the petals’ quiet plans,

backward, resending

my secrets to the earth.

Shh, because as I’m falling,

the air isn’t broke by my weight—

and the hush of the day isn’t shattered—

and I’m landing in shadow,

the dark folding over itself—

and the sun is invited to follow,

where no one waits

and no one calls.

The roses reach upward for me

as if they’ve always known

the hour of my surrender;

blood-colored mouths

and their language of absence,

and I learn it,

fall by fall, petal by petal,

until the sky turns to a cage—

and I cannot remember how it climbed.

Ah, I am falling into the flowers—

a quiet disaster,

the soft erasure,

the body undone

the only room

where love loves me.

Marni Fraser

February 23, 2026