Saturday, November 6, 2010

166. The Word “Autumn”

37 around the bend
and the word “autumn” all around

seems there is all about it
something to think about

wet branches as a memory
of what you saw as rain

driving among the signs of falling
weather and how it continues among us

a cloud above bluesky’d mountain
and what you see above beside or besides it

your own requirement to look at
whatever she had looked at before you

in front of you the presence and
the quality of light resembling “and”

these are the falls you remember
of water of leaves of light are each one

an appearance of water falling white
through an assumption of darkening night

taking a drink of water
from a cold wet hand of yours

as are you so am I in autumn
as I am in the sense of falling

ah the earth it wants you
to remember to say “ah”

hills turn to amber without
even the glow of amber sunlight

even death resembles an aye
aye the simple state of death

almost purple toward evening
in a world almost leafless

after the coupling of summer
the uncoupling of fall comes after

all shoes shuffle through these leaves
that is all the noise we want of fall

the word “autumn” arrives
at the start of autumn

the slate water alters the color
of the sky that alters the color of day

lay a white cheek against the stone
feel the cold against that pale skin

the soft blue sky again
her soft blue eyes again

you see there is no art in it
you say, “The sea art not like this”

ask for plenty in a time of want
and there will be nothing to ask for

aching for the colors of fall
for the empty aching crotch of the maple

every season is a vague acquaintance
an acquaintance we must learn the name of again

you could add to the world’s words
a word for autumn to add to yourself

she has such anxious eyes
that you are anxious to know her

nothing affects the shape of fall more
than whatever affects the way you see it

even empty fall is ample enough
to fill you with the ample delights of living

there is you are sure an acrid scent
to the leaves rotting acrid beneath your feet

some words are empty and alone
invisible to us whether in sentences or alone

an array of leaves
an array of light

arrow to the heart in the color of autumn
if there has to be a target there must be an arrow

moving athwart Under Mountain Road and over
thus moving athwart the weight of autumn

when a season is an act of life
you must act as if trained for it

is there anything you can see
when anything is always before you?

you have no answer for autumn
every answer was used up for spring

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