The Blowing of Leaves

The blowing of leaves is in my heart tonight, The sound of all Novembers I have known. Across remembered skies like comets’ light They flare and die. Before the fire, alone,

I watch the logs give up each smoldering jewel; Slowly one by one, like years, they fall away To nothingness where ashes cold and cruel Anonymize the fires they were today.

Beyond my windowsill the new leaves fall, Leaves of an autumn far too new to know; I shall not traffic with them, hear their call, Nor turn to watch the first swift flake of snow.

Kindle the fire again! Let it leap bright! Back to your wine I tell myself, proud host To all the autumns out of Time tonight— Swing wide the door, let in each straggling ghost!