One Last Autumn

 

If red stirred in a lake

the fish would be encased in glass

if the edge of a pond held a shadow

then the ripples reveal wishes

or prejudices.

If the last Sunday comes before

you expect it

then wax could sing like light

& my eyes coud hear like ears.

 

 

If this were a Japanese garden

where the mountain lets off

steam & imperils the smallest

of the tribe.

If sunset is obscured

by thunderclouds

then sounds would all turn silk.

If these hues were inside of you

the disc would seem like an orange made of water.

 

 

If the dimensions fail to

correspond, or the color bleeds red

then angels would sing.

If gold decayed into black

the world is a city of water.

If this had been criminal

then red is a premonition

of the forest behind you

about to burst into

one last autumn.

 

 

 

A Language Event.

John Olson

Roberta Olson

& Paul Nelson

5:39PM 9.13.05