PHILIP RICE

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Autumn Tasseography

What do you see in a fall of leaves?
Where we settle, green, golden, red, black—
a sunset of uniform hieroglyphics
in a circle singing with the wind and rain.

Ghosts among us, an autumn of Amens—
seraphic bowing in thanks again and again
touching the tips of wings against the cool air
(I am a cup of gratitude filled, full, flowing).

And drinking deeply the dark
sweet red memory of summer's end,
who could ever translate the dead leaves,
divining their swirling silent rounds?