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.
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