A PARISIAN IN KANSAS CITY

Sifted again trough autumn leaves,
This golden light, my oldest friend,
Revisits me here as everywhere.

We met when first I saw and caught
A swirling leaf in dimpled hands
And near me a familiar voice

Laughed at my laughter; all around,
The firm world, curving like a womb,
Was home, save the far changing sky.

I grew to think that I would see,
Each fall, the same trees lose their leaves
While only moods and skies would shift.

But now, so far from home and hopes,
I hold a leaf, stare at my hands
And see how much they too have changed

In a world where moods and clouds alone
Seem permanent, while all the rest
Between these two extremes must shift.

1942

Poetry