The Ancient Modern
By the Stream / Joshua Alan Sturgill
I woke right where I’d drifted off;
wind stirred, sudden, down the canyon walls
and caught up all the Autumn aspens, loose
and orange-golden from their grey-skinned arms.
I woke, and wondered at the sound, and saw
above me all the azure sky alive
with spinning dancing, giddy leaves, the gold
against the blue — arush! afloat! awaving!
In that moment, I forgot I had any other Self
but blue and light and leaves suspended in the air