The crisping leaves crushing under my feet
Take me back to each autumn and each leaf strewn stream,
Every flock of geese bobbing, every flicking squirrel’s tail,
Every cardinal’s peep as it starts from the trail.
I walk along now seeing much the same things,
And fill up with fall visions as if they’ve been drained.
The next and the next and so on and so forth,
Empty and filling is that all I’m for?
Again and again the storms and the skies,
The trees birthing leaves, the birds flying by,
The snow and the ice and the lake frozen stiff
And then melting, then freezing, it cracks with my stick.
The cracks spread apart with a raw grating sound,
Have I disturbed the whole process, have I gained any ground?
I think not, I think, “No”,
I’ll just walk back to town.