bending ceaselessly

bending ceaselessly
your eyes make welcome
the fallen leaves;
leaving few hints at misdirections,
vague and begging suggestions,
at the indiscretions you have lowered,
in an exact demonstration
of an absent song,
below the long threads of moss
and the rolled up
irregular rivered stone
still angular.

and only your forceable suggestion
denies;
driving the wind astray
with studied mocking tones,
and laying flatly with the still
night
now integral with you.

there are no questions
in this once tenuous pose.