Each day falls away - a dry leaf

indistinguishable, autumnal

Here is my rake, here is my pile

but I have no love

for a child's leisure:

hiding under lifeless hands

that crack and crumble when clasped

There is no one to hear,

but I am shouting -

here is myself, here is my glass

fill one and the other empties

(fill one and the other breaks)

Pathetic, pathetic - what a pity,

that I am made of wax

and bound to my unhappiness

Did I yell aloud? Why, no -

paraffin lips cannot part

to speak, curse, kiss

(though how I long

to do all three) no,

I am mute - a stoic statue

watching the progress

of one

more

plunging

leaf