Brian Swann
AUBADE FOR AUTUMN
Light comes put-putting in like an
old bi-plane.
Start again.
This
Morning arrives almost before light
itself.
Not bad. Again .
This morning is
A sonata.
Better.
Telemann.
In
G
minor.
Good.
Organ is adagios of
Bronze and red cascading from oak and
maple. Trumpet the quick fingers
Of aspen, and the slant eastern
light swarming down the dry stream-bed
Like trail-bikes, two or even three
up, buzzsaws gone loco-.
Again .
Trumpet is light embedding itself
inside the sti ll green foliage
Of young elms, whose leaves make
lenses. The silver echoes are drowned
Out by damn dapple-dawn-drawn
Hondas. Oh, pride, plume, here
Buckle! AND-.
Slow down.
O,-Pp!
Leg–
ato! Start again! Da capo! -my.
