Already the leaf as fallen
Even as the pain pays its own reminder
One body, which makes its way
Working out where to place the music
It is obvious that I should crawl about the floor
Find the remote, plug in the CD, turn it on
But I don’t, no I don’t do that
The poetry must always come first
Instead to listen to the silence
Or the ambience of the muffled world outside
Where the leaf has already fallen
Where the pink sky has turned to grey
It is less obvious what I would listen to
Which playlist, what century
Yes I am unsure, and being unsure
The poetry always comes first
I sit in this new writer’s space
Fashioning myself as such a vehicle
My eyes sway from leaf to leaf
Working out how to begin again
