the fifth lapse: methusala?

the strength of an echo
as if fields were falling from stars
and the cosmos a dark wind
stirring even more the whispers
of trees into breeze and back
unto chaffes of leaves grown
coarse by the sun's distant
reminder of warmth or
the breath or at least breath
warm and released as
if one knew
the deep counsel of the falling
leaf and to follow
another leaf, perhaps, another
tomorrow.

why try grasp the voices
or sounds? why make sense
of silence when the loud presence
of today is not yet ended?

stretch this way magnificent
echo and sleep from this death
the night in all its dark and in its
stage
bow in confidence
as you find
this scene
quiet all about
the silence