Until Autumn

Bless the trees that lag behind and keep their color
Bless the stubborn leaves that refuse to let go
They're not ready yet,
And neither am I

Bless the souls of fern,
implanting themselves in the newly-wet, blossoming moss,
Curling out fresh, vivid tendrils,
Saying:
This isn't the end of anything; look at what I've done,
Saying:
All the fading is a lie

Bless the twigs and chaff
And fallen leaves, anyway,
That hide the mud on the path
Bless the birds that sing and sing
With no tomorrow

Bless the blue sky, bright as any Summer
Bless the fingerprints of windowpanes,
Slanting hard on the wood floor
Bless the sun warm on the bed
Bless the chin-high covers
Bless the waking brightness,
And eyes wet with sun

Bless the brain soft from sleep
Bless the body hot from exertion
Bless the heart in its gauzy hopefulness
In all their landscapes of confused believing

For the moments of delusion that the changing could wait this time.