Gabriel, Michael and Lucifer in Leaves
The voice of autumn yet unheard is still,
But soon a breeze will turn, become a wind,
Become a storm. October spreads a chill,
A silence almost sound, or singing thinned
By yellow in the leaves of aspens, beech
And maples to the point of silence, notes
Invisible and clear as holy speech
From martyrs, saints and prophets, ivory throats
Producing silent psalms in sun or mists.
Our hearts pretend that we can hear the red
Of rowan berries as the autumn twists
Them in the sadness of their shapes outspread.
The hickories hum orange songs as bright
As wordless angel choirs in woodland flight.
~ Phillip Whidden
