The first in John Stone's pair of November poems, EARLY and LATE (the second to come in, you guessed it, late November, look for it on the 20th).
1. EARLY
John Stone
The earliest leaves are now
starting to fall. Those
that did contrive somehow
in autumn's swift revision
to cling a moment more
have turned in pure precision
burned yellow, brown,
red, ochre, gold
in every part of town
as though replying to
a question I never heard.
If color is a clue
I take all this to mean
whatever the answer was
it couldn't be said in green.
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