During the early
morning, after you
left and my love
glowed soft under
the street lamp, I
reached the lone true
fall of my heart, and
it was less fiery leaves
than blue spotted with pale
yellow. I listen to the
hum & whisper of
the traffic outside the
window; it is like a
song. (How could I not
have seen that?) I
am not thinking about
anything directly, but
am perched on the
edge of it, looking in
on those I love, and I
realize with a quiet
jolt that I am happy.
Is this how it feels to
be dead? Everything
seems lifetimes ago,
and here comes the
point when my eyes
drop. Just for a
moment. If I push
through it, I will wake
with the birds and
that will be that. But
if I fall asleep, maybe I
will catch a glimpse of
the secret they
deciphered in the
night
in a dream.
Ah, how we taste,
but will never
consume, such
mysteries.