Leaves and Music

There are the notes, crushed leaves on cobbles,
    lying
    where they danced - angels' wings
Dead
  by illumination: they fell
      (Wisdom-sated, song ridden)
  Down-
    spiralling on a midwinter morning.


These are the rough grace-gravel of human words.
      They are lacerating my shoe.


Here are the sweets, the sweet names, the bitter
            chosen; beloved yours, yours in the evening's ending.

For yours is in
    the bitter-burning
          the cold
          the candle
          and the cedar's shaking.


For you are smooth and damaged, like a polished pebble.