Softly, the skyís lamp warmed the dusky autumn
Evening and the cobbled path on which
I walked. The worn stones were encompassed by
A russet vale of molting foliage;
Piquant as a Bengal tiger in the
Morning sun, they held all the appeal of
Tarnished copper wire in the waning light.
As the copper forest alloys with the
Leaden sky, a cherry tree emerges,
Silhouetted on the banks of the brook.
It was by this cherry tree that we met.
I remember it well: in springtime, scaling
The branches together in a flurry
Of limbs, with constellations of cherry
Blossoms drifting atop the placid brook
Like Roman candlesÖ
In summer, seeing the heavens echoed
In the waterís faint hue and leaving the
Ripening cherries when we saw the maggots
Devouring their blushing pulp from within.
I remember, too, the autumn when the
Blossoms were borne downstream by the seasons,
And ripe cherries gave way to festering
Hordes of gnats. The last of the fruit fermented
Like bad wine, and the inky vinegar
They excreted fell to the earth in a
Pungent cesspool of viscous maroon sludge.
I left the branch to seek the stream below:
Still you perched, a lark upon the tree,
Gazing wistfully from the branches until
One day you swooped into the thicket while
I swam amidst the swirling chorus of currents.
I remember it well.
As I reminisce, the shadows have merged
Into night and twilight immerses the
Etched landscape in a deluge of darkness.
The bare cherry tree melts into ebony
As the currents cascade ever onwards.
The evening lapses into a sable stupor
As I follow the cobbled path back home.