Decomposition

When september comes
with its usual beauty
the red berries on the bushes at the park
and the sun's whispering in corners.

In the middle of rush-hour traffic there are
visions, visions
for September is the giddy month
here all accumulated grief is loosened
and sift down on the cortex
like big brown snowflakes.

You walk around in a high and remember
to be heading for leaf fall
the cold pipes of the dead.

In September things
and time decompose
even the paper's white color
will vanish.

And a name will remain
perhaps as clear and familiar
as if it was
your own.

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