Life starts anew as the summer dies,
And the moon hangs full over ripened fields.
Rain-damp leaves carpet the ground;
the air is heavy with their passing.
You and I walk this far-flung road,
And truths fall from us like leaves.
We tell our secrets before we realize what we’ve said,
And suddenly we stand in the blazing light of honesty.
If I could bend my words, pound them flat and solid,
burnish them until they shone mirror-bright,
You could gaze into them and see yourself as I see you:
Stronger than you think,
Wiser than you believe,
Lovelier than you hope.
You yourself are mirror-bright.
But like the first leaf falling–
summer’s small death–
I feel the sudden shift of atmosphere,
uncomfortably self-aware in the light of our candor.
Our easy, flowing honesty hitches.
I’ve already said too much.
So my words lose their glow,
grow dull and flat and safe,
restrained by the fear of looking foolish,
and you see yourself with your own eyes,
I catch my breath, hold my tongue,
and we walk into the autumn night.