Yankee Meadow Halloween

There are no true claims
About what happened,
Only about what
Will have to happen.

Nothing is both past
And present, while all
Presence is the past
And is thus nothing,

But nothing cannot be,
Only be coming; indeed,
Nothing is what the past is
Presently coming to be.

In the past, before I see
This sentence return to me,
As a posting from others,
As words on a page or screen,

The meadows in the mountains
Became inaccessible
To me, snowed, closed, and wintry,
And I will think of nothing

Again, unless, by that age,
Nothing has already thought
Of me—in the event,
I have nothing to say, but

Forgive me old pine,
I have to take the song
Your traveling wind
Earned away from you.

Once, in a green world,
On the wayside, by a stream,
I looked at the sky
And saw burnt cliff’s mindless clouds
Rising behind me.