Autumn Interchange
It's harder now to find the Fall,
time takes the fast lane,
days blur by,
the city only slows
for congestion.
Observed from air conditioned cars
the seasons, blended, lose their savour,
greenhouse winters,
scattered springs,
summers spoiled by South Americans called
El.
And autumn's melancholy magic,
left behind,
seems tired and depressed,
its slow and subtle godspell lost
on trees that cannot change.
When I was young
the highway promised
endless possibilities,
but failed, exhausted,
choked with guilt,
and never gained its goal.
Perhaps I'll try the turn off
to the via negativa,
the path of letting go,
a lenten road through
Easter's night,
where leaden sacrifice transmutes
to a rising, blaze of gold.
(C) Copyright March, 2000
Andrew Charles Dallaston
All Rights Reserved
