The leaves are putting their shadows to bed.
\nAmong my imaginal people who once were real.
\nI talk to them in melancholy.
\nI walk along implausible edges of my soul.
\nNo one can write his story before it comes.
\nDoes God do that?
\nPlay jazz and watch the hours dance inside me?<\/p>\n
I could never have seen you from the past.
\nThe figures on the wall taking form.
\nThe music, a different song each day.
\nThat is how poems get written
\nbefore they blow away like leaves,
\nfilling ditches, floating on water,
\ngathering around chairs on the patio.
\nLet them stay there.
\nDon\u2019t sweep them away.<\/p>\n
So I join you in conversation at the table.
\nIn silence, full of words,
\ntrading eyes, being young and old together.
\nWarm and cold at the same time.
\nThe past indestructible,
\nthe future up for grabs.
\nWhat a lovely way to spend a silence,
\nwatching the leaves sail by.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The leaves are putting their shadows to bed. Among my imaginal people who once were real. I talk to them in melancholy. I walk along…<\/p>\n