It is time

To bring down the moon
Erased of impassable-
Scraps of papers, old announcements
And unopened letters.
The striped bag full of lines
Scribbled, received and sent.

I leave behind a congregation
Of no importance or so it had seemed then-
Distant conversations in the celestial world
Of indefinite existence.
Shrinking thoughts of age wild and intoxicated.

Propelled out of desire to be found
By the sunshine freshly bathed
In rain someday-
Like the downtown lights
Finding a place in times of difficulty.

The books I would have liked to read,
A yellow dress with white embroidery,
Favorite silver armlet received
In unreliable post on day of birth.
A comb missing a few tooth and
A black hair band borrowed just yesterday.

It is time to leave the cut grass where it grew
In the air of past with its wet fragrance.