AUTUMN, THE WAY

AUTUMN. THE WAY

Autumn. The way a relationship dies

leaf by leaf, rooted in the earth

and everywhere reaching for nothing

like the delinquent light of unbeseechable stars.

There’s more dignity in the darkness

than folly in the light

and for some reason among humans

tears are more indelible than laughter

though it takes both to open the heart like a bird

and sing like a downed powerline

gone snakey off its cross.

Why long backwards for things that have passed

or addict yourself to a junkmail emotion

now that the sale you thought would never end

is over and the leaves, the spent leaves

are falling like flyers, rain-cheques, coupons and receipts?

The moon pops up. You delete it like spam.

Does it matter who

stepped off into the darkness of the great beyond

espousing a sidereal future

and who stayed alone by the fire with the past?

When was it your rosaries turned into chainsaws,

do you remember the night, the precise moment

you went under your next breath like an anaesthetic

and the moon removed your heart like a scalpel

and the gaping emptiness that was left

struck you like the dark satori of a wound?

You’ll never get over it.

You’ll never be the same again.

You’ll watch the leaves falling

and won’t know who to blame.

PATRICK WHITE