DOES SHE REMEMBER THE AUTUMN

The day spreads before me, the rose of her sex.

& we move through these stages of metamorphosis

in a present, all-inclusive of past, & future.  & see

the people pass by in the city, the stream that lifts

before us in the hours that call in the night.  I had

seen the woman child move through the air,

a sprite, & wished to give her every freedom. 

The chill air of autumn.  The red, & purple leaves

that dance.

It was the sting of trials we had moved through, in the amber

light, beginnings of some faint music that leads us

through the fires.  I watched the flame in her eyes

dance to some invisible rhythm, &

kept wondering when they would say yes, when

they would accept the Son, as he was reborn

to us in our age.  & it was then I realized,

looking at the people, this wasn’t it.  This was

not the way to live.  & so, I waited for the

slow acceptance of her limbs, the trail of silk

that slipped almost soundlessly

through the air.  Waiting for the affirmation of all that was sublime

in life, instead of some incessant denial.  &

please, do not think that I have forgotten, or

that I do not know.  Still there was that question,

if she had remembered, though in her eyes

it was certain she had loved you.  Looking

at the people, I found they had no

poetry in them, but the woman child was alive

with a light, & her elastic limbs

dance in

the darkened light.  I begin again, my

lungs healthy, & clear.  I inhale the

fresh clean air a moment.  In realization

that I wanted to live.  It had been

bad blood all the while, yet why these

continual frictions, when you yourself were

so carefree?  Was it that

our people had forsaken God, as they

had forsaken the Son long ago?  I still   

question, in the daylight hours, while

my mind is clear.  & I see without occlusion,

the way things truly are.