by Christopher Hileman
It is such a silly question. Why would I ask?
I sit under this late summer tree in the dust
Of autumn coming. I seek you, seeking truth.
I watch for the turning leaves, as if I could see
Green depart and drier colors stay behind,
As if finding that is finding you, or truth.
I call for you to approach, to take me up
As if you would provide spring’s return now.
Can we fly above, skip this winter’s coming?
So in this late season’s light I am a holy fool
In love with you, with truth, entranced in song.
I have called for you, called for life beyond.
Yes, a holy, silly question, now that I have asked.