I remember going outside on long autumn nights growing up (I say growing up but I guess it was just a few years ago). My family lived across the street then and we had one of those trees in the front yard that dropped those helicopter leaves. You know the ones I mean? They have a round seed body and a stiff propeller that comes out of one side, almost like the sail of a ship strung from its steady mast.
There was something profound in the way these seeds drifted to the ground. Quietly, often unobserved, they'd meander gently through the air before resting on the ground. There was no protest in their movement; how could there be? Just a soft floating and complacence.
It's that quietness and complacence I think about when I read this, our second e.e. cummings poem. In my experience this piece has been pretty consistent with most of his other work, and in that spirit, this poem is also untitled.
P.S. Mads were awesome tonight! It was... well.. even invigorating! very good!