Jane Hirshfield
Autumn
Again the wind
flakes gold-leaf from the trees
and the painting darkens—
as if a thousand penitents
kissed an icon
till it thinned
back to bare wood,
without diminishment.
Paris Review: From issue no. 109 (Winter 1988)
@RobertAllenPoet@kalezelden
DOWNY WHITE ASSASSIN
With the sun at your back
you stealthily stalk your prey
dark clad Ninjas may rule the night
but with a serpent like lightning strike
your sharp billed blade commands the day
@RobertAllenPoet@kalezelden@jmasseypoet
BEFORE YOU GO
If you should ever leave me
please, let it be in autumn
for these are the months
broken hearts are in season
when a dispassionate wind
detatches leaves from tree limbs
and tears previously summoned
are primed and ready to fall
@RobertAllenPoet@kalezelden