Leaf
Gold leaves have gathered along the riverbanks–
Birch, ash, catalpa. River rimmed in gold
Like pages of an old holy book. The river too is sacred,
Its mouth full of fishes and stones,
Broad face reflecting the tree-covered mountain,
Trees glorious in their reds and golds.
And sky– blue as eternity, its tumbled clouds
Changing as quickly as one breath to the next.
Wind moves on the river's still surface
Even as I watch, shattering images to light–
Flashes and dots, like a dance of light
In an impressionist's eyes. Yet
What catches my attention this clear autumn day
Is the single gold leaf tumbling and drifting
In the air before me, making its way down to the river,
A leaf that once had the river of its own life flowing
Down its center, spreading to tributaries
Like my blood spreads through my body.
Dry now, the leaf has become a map,
A message from another time, an icon
For calling back this morning, this autumn, this life
That always renews itself like sacred words
That never die even after the pages they are written on
Burn to ash, even after the ash itself rises
To become one with the air, even after
There’s nothing left at all except the ache in the heart
To guide us home.
Copyright © 2003 Margaret Robison
More ramp poetryReturn to ramp poetry index