Trumpets

Under the trimmed willows, where brown children

are playing

And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking

of cemeteries.

Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple

trees,

Riders along rye-fields, empty mills.

Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step

delicately

Into the circle of their fire, the grove’s sorrow

immensely old,

Dancing, they loom up from one black wall;

Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets