There, Then
There, and then, red leaves
Played slowly in the stone.
A statue stood, sitting,
Creeping in on itself,
Draped in climbing weeds.
Then, those hot columns of light
Quivered down through the gaps
That separate space
From the emptiness of black branches
On a broken blue sheet.
But something has come,
Something has scattered
The yellows and reds
Into greens and Roses,
Opening the field onto itself.
There, and then, three boys
Played football in thick mud,
Their silhouettes shifting slowly
Through a heavy fog,
Now part of a sea.
And here, they’ve come back,
Their feet now tramping the dust
That, then, clung to them for dear life.
And, if you listen carefully,
Their boots still talk of
Black boughs on open skies,
There, and then.