My Crying Trees

The blue canvas
the brilliant sky
the sun on my eyes.

Water dripping off my face.

A glorious engagement
with my lover. At the lakeside.
She looking so sensual.

But that is gone.
Summer is gone.

Oh, My Picasso, My Goya
My Guernica

My burning horses

My wilting flowers

My crying trees

My Howling nights

My quiet mornings.

I've been holding onto summer

Yet it's a cold November

Goodbye summer

It's about time

I rummage through
the library of my mind

To review Ginsberg, Thoreau
and Emerson

To Connect with my books,
my poems and my Picassos.

To live while much is left to die.

See the falling leaves

My crying Trees.

--Michael Hooper
Nov. 6, 2018