Blades of stiff winter grass
imprison the autumn leaves,
but when the gust swoops through,
some of the leaves dash like no one is looking.
Children, and their parents chasing them,
weave through the market crowd.
“Get over here Olivia, for the last time”
With a heavy sigh he swings down and scoops her up.
She bubbles with a bright laugh because it’s a fun game.
Soccer balls and calisthenics,
yoga poses and strollers,
blankets and books,
and me on a bench with my luggage
in the bright light of the late morning.
The sun particles I feel warming my cheeks,
lighting the inside of my eyelids,
took just eight minutes to reach me from the sun,
but they took thousands of years. to go from the inside to the outside.
They swirled in the hearth of solar fire for eons,
until it was time, and then the sun
hurled them into the cold space
all the way to me, to this very moment,
where now they are gently pushing through my eyelids
Where there they meet the water of my tears.
My tears are john particles,
slow marchers from the inside of my heart
to the outside of me
where there the tears sit,
just on the edge of my closed eyes,
gathering, trying to hold on to it all,
until they just can’t anymore,
they just can not,
and so they give up
and they let go
and they careen away.
into the light.
There amongst the yellowed grass of Fort Greene Park
in the white sun and the cold wind,
under the rise of laughter from over the hill
of children being scoped up by weary fathers,
a flock of tiny sparrows looks for food.
Their beaks weave through the grass
looking for food,
looking like minature pendulums,
to and fro, to and fro,
every delicate movement
another measure of time…
The way time moves.
The way things break.
The way everything comes to us.
They way it all leaves.
It’s falling away
and I am letting it go,
and here on this bench,
in the new of the day,
in the ancient sun light,
in the shadow of the city,
I am ready to come home to you.