Old With You, Lily Brown

LEAF AT THE END



I climbed a giant leaf at the end

of my imagination. Across

the spotted water, the hill

fastened its yellow bushels.



The imagination asked for all the cities,

for the canopy to get its machines out

and tile the leaves. My friend Lily

assumes what I want and it's so unfair.



The imagination shoves in and pushes

blithely out, a belt of pelicans, a plank

of hard clouds, bunches of doorknobs

halo the street-blighted hills.



I find a pile of antlers in the woods, assembled

for burning. I crawl beneath them and stay

there when the burners come with their fire.

Up in the canopy I dangle, touching nothing.


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