– 26 –

Showers of Leaves

April is passing; the tired trees are casting their harness
down, here in the vale where the east wind is bated
  and fans but faintly the rays of the waning sun.

A soft susurration of small leaves in dessication, a rustling,
a hushed song is breathed here where the wind stirs them;
  accomplished, accomplished is their ministration, their service is done.

Back, back, bright ornaments, to earth’s breast, the maternal
source, whence the vernal sap sprang in young September,
  when of her life, and the sun’s, and the breeze’s, your substance was spun.

Back to the mattamore, brief golden treasure; stormtarnished
frail coinage, to the mint again; scattered for largesse
  as summer’s train to the distance recedes, her regency run.

A light leaf’s kiss feathers my cheek as it flutters
restwards. Meekly the flitting leaves whisper: Dimittis.
  Requiescat, requiescat, sighs the dying wind’s salutation.

Ah! might I as peacefully, completion serenely accepting,
its office fulfilled, as freely put off this integument,
  and get me hence, mine eyes having seen salvation.