Still Life, Evening with Leaves and Blinding Light

The leaves were not laughing at me
(I could read their minds by floodlight)

In that perfect increment of night
when I loved the moment enough

For it to be my last they did not laugh
when I decreed it irreversible

In the barrel of empty air afloat
on the last black wave taking root

the leaves
did not laugh at me that

laughter was my own  (by
floodlight they can read my mind)