The Autumn Poplar

The Autumn Poplar Blinded in its oblivion of words The sound of wind rises in her branches The dance and pirouette of each stem As soft in sound, As the ending flutter of a graceful leaf To the ending page of the sheet music I composed in the form of a poplar sonata. The branches lean into my arms, And I feel nothing, Like a child in a free-suspended pirouette Hanging upside down, From the strongest branch, His arms wrapped around the sturdy trunk That has him bound by the mightiest roots.