Happy Autumn: Anthem for an Altar to the Seeming Dead
This year the falling of leaves is a celebration –
swatches in burgundy, amber, umber, yellow,
scarlet – the warm colors of antique tapestries.
These leaf shapes, everyday and ancient, are each
a vowel or word in the deeper text we live.
In this happy time, Sherrill, Michael, the two
Roberts, and the one Bobby – my beloved dead
never truly departed – hunger for reviving speech.
The falling leaves are not notes from the dead.
The only language we share now is in a place
beyond sadness where bright leaves laugh.
1 comment:
How lovely to see a pix of Sherrill smiling from your blog. I think of her often - and you - as I remember the old times - good times.
Mike
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