Ok, so below is the poem as it originally appeared, plus proposed changes that i'm thinking about after a dialog with Curtis about the poem. If people would be so kind as to give me their opinions about the changes, plus any other critical comments about the poem itself, i'd be grateful. Comments can be made directly on this page, or in an email to me (naj at uchicago.edu). If you comment on this page, please do so below the poem itself, and use stanza/line number in stanza (1-4) to refer to specifics.

 I am the leaf limp on the branch
 Scarlet turning slowly to orange brown
 Then plunging gracefully through the frosty air
 To the ground

 I am the dying grass
 Green in my morning, brown in my evening
 Immune to the ravages of passing feet
 But not to my caress

 I am the skeletal trees
 Fingers reaching into space in greeting
 And limbs poised to accept a dance
 From the chill wind

 I am the grain that falls and the apple overripe
 Left in the field long after all others are taken
 I know that there is always rebirth
 And always after, death

 I am the voice that moans 
 Howling about your eaves while you think warm thoughts
 Safely battened down in your fortress of wood and brick
 Promises of darkness and cold

 I am the shadow of death
 Harbinger of torpor and stasis; I await only the gravemaker
 And the trees with their shivering hands reach to him in supplication
 To bury all the world

 I am the frosted claw that grips hearts and kills joy
 I am the child scribbling on the slate before it is wiped clean
 I am the sorrow beyond remembrance and the destiny beyond foretelling
 I am the beginning of unbecoming

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Last edited May 3, 2005 20:06 (diff)