autumn poem

the endless, foolish merriment of stars
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
up from the meadows rich with corn
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
since i have felt the sense of death
i cannot always feel his greatness
when i returned at sunset
tripping up, falling down
just as my fingers on these keys
risen from the dead
when i was a boy at college
you say you love me
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea