I have learned never to ask the name of injury--
but I pay that no attention.
I was told it was better to learn everything, then
forget selectively than never to have
learned at all.

This is the one day of fall when
the world is warm and brittle, the wind just strong
enough to clear off the trees. Today leaves shake
to the earth in piles, push against curbs,
into alleys and street drains, where the final
cracks of their deaths cannot be heard.

My eyes close--
leaves roar by, shrapnel from an explosion. Shredded
air and sharp debris scarcely frighten me.
I pretend. I reduce the importance of disaster
around me. I disappear
to my smallest place