October 1, 2011
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Poem from 10/1
This autumn in Pittsburgh
fell into a complicated melody
and the listening ear rests itself
against the warm breath of poetry
While walking near the rivers,
the water littered with misspent words
and the colored petals of flowers
that passed away into the night
Somehow all the brown zones
of the dying industrial age
became a love song
of empty lots with arms outstretched
The heart still beats
even as the machinery rusts
disintegrates from disuse.
Angels and crickets whisper
their voices lifting
and the thread is followed
into a spiral of color and sound
and I am still translating.
