May 04, 2013

"Notes from the Backyard"

The trees lean in.
The last of the autumn leaves rustle.

Fire clouds drift
across the sky.

You lift fallen apples,
gather them in your hands
to gauge their weight.
They dangle lazily from your fingers
like small planets.

You close your eyes.
Around you, the ambient hum of suburbia,
families sighing into dinner,
garages closing their heavy eyes,

and you listen like a phantom,
your own opera unspooling gently.

The air darkens.