The locust trees have turned yellow,
and the sunset comes early in the evening.
Living across the street from Saint T's,
and feeling my own seasons shift,
I take to contemplating the Divine.
All that I am and am not
swirls in my imagination like leaves down the sidewalk.
How I love these poems,
and all the days and years distilled within them;
If you should see me looking half-lidded and sleepy in the wicker chair,
it is just this poet contemplating the Divine--
all the miraculous things
that I am
and am not.