(no subject)

give me red trees wet then darkened by night rains. soak them black before me until all I see are the drops of water; and only let me see those just before they fall. take me out of this brickwork into the colored sunlight, all the leaves of autumn and their electric vintage. I am not the sum of these windows, the tally of ivy upon ivory blood upon blood winter upon the river. my lovers are rows of teeth and stand upon themselves in hard yellowed ranks. No no more black trees I murmur and wave a saddened hand. A tractor rounds a corner in the city, no more out of place among the fields of asphalt than its natural habitat, but I note its passing just as if a funeral hearse had risen from the very banks of the Mississippi. I yearn now to be the falling drops, to be the clear globe of endless crystal and loose myself into the air apart from blackened limbs, reddening autumnal descents, draining fountains. And sidle along the concrete beneath the bows of an evergreen.