we heal, simply, others,
like leaves resting next to a bare tree stripped
naked by seasons, naked like we all are
at birth
workmen took rest here, next
to this tree a hundred years ago;
their sweat still lingers in the air.
Down-river the bridge they built
still stands. the same names carved
in its railings as in their granite headstones
*
we heal, simply, our children,
like some kind of morality play. We
put leaves, like tiny boats, into cold water,
watch in mystery as they float away
like so many emigrants
*
we heal, simply, ourselves,
and in the silence near our death we hear
our own hearts beating
as quietly as falling leaves
