Good Life

On Turning Fifty-Three

As never before

I am present to the seasons

and see each day

so clearly

as a leaf detached that is

falling, falling, falling

from its tree

to lay in bright array

with the thousands gone before.





As I walk and scuffle

through the leaves, I see

the worm abandoned

on the walk and pick it up

to warm its earth-filled body,

and lay it down

where it might

burrow, burrow, burrow

into the ground.





I can’t recall

what sounds there were

in our several homes

while each child grew

from infant to young woman,

but when the leaves sound

at any point

from the motion of the air,

I turn my face to the sky

and remember

that, with every falling leaf,

I grow closer to my home.

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