October 16, 2011

Untitled Autumn Poem

fragility of sun filtering
back through tall, weedy trees
made explosive by gold autumn
          I will never see that light again
          in exactly the same way . . .
          at the same angle
          with the same foliage
          even now turning brown
          & driven groundward by wind
the branch precariously balanced
since last winter stays, but the day comes
when it is thrown down
when even that which is permanent
is thrown down

- to come around again
different, or the same
a series of notes played the same
on a different piano
a keening harmony shifting
melody around it,
always coming back, the same
different and everything
with this day a point on the arc

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