The Accuracy of When

When the Stella Magnolia leaves

are all on the ground, I will know

fall has ended.  The melancholy complete,

the time of bare, naked trees reaching

up, digging down, ready to show their

winter strength – the holders of the dreams

of spring, a certain prophecy.  

That time is not now, nor will it repeat

with any exactitude of what has gone

before.  Consider the divine,

the nature of nature’s beauty,

furious storms, the afterglow.

Then speak what’s been shown in silence,

the only language fit for what cannot

be spoken of but known.  No belief, no

argument, but knowing “this is this,

that is that” and no fear to live

what’s been given in the way 

a leaf falls to the ground,

the way that feels like the lips

of your beloved on your lips,

that sigh escaping just before the kiss.

-Byron Hoot

https://hootnhowlpoetry.com