The air has a Mediterranean warmth,
and September has barely begun, yet
the Japanese cherry’s annual
alchemy is already underway –
making the green into soft gold, the gold
into bright copper. For the birch, the acer,
plum and fig summer prevails. Butterflies
are on the ivy, bees on the sedum
From where I sit in this healing Eden
the turning leaves appear like links of metal
plaited. In due course, they will untangle,
fall, decay. This is a complacent place.
East of Eden, ignorant armies
are mustering, while children go hungry.
My watchwords are: Be kind! Be unforgiving!
This morning’s sky was a pinkish, orange
overcast – dust particles from sand storms
in the Sahara, blown overnight
by southerly winds, leaving a fine layer
on recycling bins, and on the car.
Tomorrow is my annual CT scan
– free moon-shot technology to check
nothing hidden and untoward progresses.
Such investment in an old man’s future!
This may be the last time, the doctor says.
Proper sentences end with a full stop –
proper poems with ambiguities.
Wind chimes – made from a small bell, and pierced,
hand-carved coloured stones threaded on strands of twine –
stirring in an unexpected shift of air,
ring gently out of sight.
By David Selzer