The
Column of reason,
Bare-boned,
Rises and falls.
The twining leaves
Sway, in
Stuttered breaths,
With deeper sighs; and
The beauty drawn
With fewer strokes
Pleases every prickly eye.

In the bluest sky
Of the autumn morning,
A beaming star
Lightens a smile;
Of hopes and
The more to come
In the daily market
Of adding days.

The leaves with
Different hues
Lay on the moist earth.
Waking in this blind morning
With ease and softness,
That rise and spread
Moving into every
Empty unfilled space.

Impressed by
This leafy sight;
Gripping
The smoothest paintbrush,
I search and gather
All those spaces;
Parched and unshaken,
Between the leaves,
In the crevices,
Beyond the mountains,
In to shadowy Valleys, and
Draw them closer;
Layer
Upon layer.
The tuft of hair,
Dipped in delight,
Strokes the parchment
With such great ease;
And I,
Rise in the Airy freshness:
Now cleansed, clear and dry;
Leaping in joy,
Over a freshly-brewed tea:
“It is only the space,
And Me”

To one of the twigs,
Wrinkled and dry,
Of an ancient tree,
An autumn leaf,
Clasps on to life,
Beating and warming
In the bitter, chill air.
Beating and Warming,
Beating and Warming.