Newton

i am not the part of the dandelion
that you blow away with a wish
and find, somehow,
stuck to your boot
when you get home

i am not the apple
that fell on newton
and came back to him
in biographies and epitaphs
and medals and eulogies

i am not the alarm clock
that you snoozed
and sirened again
five minutes
too late

i am not the shadow
that is sewn to your feet
and stuck on the wall:
even when it is not there
it is there

i am not the discarded secret
that comes back at bedtime
and whispers to you,
"i am here and i know you best
i know you real"

i am not your ruby lipstick
that all stained your champagne glass
and, removed from your mouth,
find smeared on your cheek
echoing what the night had been

if you push
gravity will have its way
and i will not return