Poets of the fall
Years from now,
the grief of the autumn leaves
will lead you to the crypt of
an origami, paper crane.
Under the obsolete dust,
where red plumeria once grew,
there will be a tale of ebony hearts.
Carved in the words of a script,
flashbacks on the edge of omission
will let you in on secrets
about crippled fantasies,
about a kiss and a gaze at the stars
that could turn the gray daylight
into an ivory moonlight.
The wind doesn’t need to know
how like lovers of the summer we held
the last drops of sultry bruises,
the rain doesn’t have to remember
how like poets of the fall we kept
the candle lights on our lips, because
destiny gave us the clarity of the dawn.
© 2011 Broken Sparkles