that feeling

If you read

what this April

rain writes

on gold leaves

in transparent ink,

a blurring script

of how what falls

through air

from nowhere

and shimmers,

for the moment,

a book of days

of unsayable

syllables, lovely,

nevertheless,

bejeweled,

reflective

of late light

along the deckle

edge, dissolving,

running off, falling

again, as all brief

infatuations do

into silence,

perhaps, in time

bittersweet memory,

then you know

the feeling.

 

--Miguel de O

Done