LIKE TURNING ON A SWITCH
In a day and a night the leaves of all four
Gingko trees in the courtyard fell,
Fanned out in one direction by a south wind
As if they had been deliberately laid.
Even in half-light they glowed
As if a door had been opened at mid-court
Spilling brightness onto the grass.
But there was no door, no room into which
One might lead, no light to shine out,
Just yellow leaves, four shadow-anchored
Boats, straining to pull away with the tide.
About the Author
Published by Texas Review Press