talk to me, yellow tree,
tell me how you sing in gold
harmonies of light and float,
you lift and fall in autumn
pieces on the ground ~ whisper
your dance of shifting limbs
you tell time with your turn
teach me roots that grasp
frozen grip when all they hold is
gone
I walked two miles with my eyes closed,
while autumn’s colors crunched beneath my steps.
Now and again I stumbled, but righted myself,
and continued on my way. The sparrows
listened to my miles and asked, “Why?” and when
I did not answer or open my eyes, again, “Why?”
The path knew my steps well and did not change.
November sheds a gracious scent, knowing
he’s an older gentleman, and I breathed in, and took
his hand, walked on until the circle’s end. And there
I opened up my eyes again. Daylight had fled,
leaving me there to greet the night, with gracious November,
my friend.
Talking to the Clouds 