*All the Leaves Plump Down at Once*
Thin branches line the quiet sunlight,
almost evening
my impatience reminiscing happiness.
Autumn takes rehearsing. Lakeside near impending winter
the lumber yard showcases low-grade wood
we would have thrown away in other years.
Literal repairs pierce walls beside my room.
A while ago I tried to meditate beside the window.
A conversation with one fact unspooled itself across the sidewalk.
Rest retracts what prompted its return.
The self amid the emblems of repeated selves.
Now the dry light hastens privacy to come.
I lie down next to expectations and find sleep.
All the quiet I would ever need re-lives my life to me.
Please pass the salary, the saline, water from the Great Salt Lake.
Sheila E. Murphy
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