i want the leaves to be homes for the moths
and the beetles but the neighbor keeps
cutting our grass without asking
i want to love this textbook autumn
while it lasts
so i sit on the front porch
chair in my nightgown
and try to see the whole street
with only two eyes
more leaves already laid over the lawn
like lace, i imagine your empty place
at the table on thanksgiving
where god will have to sit
no matter how little i knew you
nothing goes from the world quietly
without resisting the rake
things fall
can we let them lie?
the park fountain is dry
a girl my age 20 years ago
is running in circles around
its hollow interior
i am smiling at her mother
who is shaking her head
as if apologizing though
i have not asked her to
this is joy as full as i’ve ever seen it
i want to shout across the path
but can’t find my voice
choked up
turning my head toward
the busy sidewalk
something small is happening
everywhere i look
i feel bright in the beautiful bustle
i weave through
trying to fit it all into the time it takes
to puncture the crowd
and emerge into absence
i want to go to bird island
in the middle of the pond
where no grief can live
and everyone with legs
can fly