10-12-2025, 07:04 AM
The Lover
To see what is
in autumn
when inner
and outer
reflect,
more than
any season;
life and death,
the colors of
the leafgrounded
spectrum,
a measure
of this ease.
Suffering
a joyful burning,
like the harvest
moon, orange
and jolly.
What gift
is hidden
in the stone-
clouded dirt:
some bird, dead
of flying, star-
twinkling saliva
of the sunken
horse.
The unicorn's
a fairground for
unrequited poets.
Singing never-
had-enjoyments
melds the crisp air
and trees like desperate
ecstasy a Christmas
eve. God has his window.
The Fall its Trees.
To see what is
in autumn
when inner
and outer
reflect,
more than
any season;
life and death,
the colors of
the leafgrounded
spectrum,
a measure
of this ease.
Suffering
a joyful burning,
like the harvest
moon, orange
and jolly.
What gift
is hidden
in the stone-
clouded dirt:
some bird, dead
of flying, star-
twinkling saliva
of the sunken
horse.
The unicorn's
a fairground for
unrequited poets.
Singing never-
had-enjoyments
melds the crisp air
and trees like desperate
ecstasy a Christmas
eve. God has his window.
The Fall its Trees.