Out of This World (for Greg Taylor)

One lone cicada fell out of the trees
the last strains of his song were still thick on the breeze
the others got louder, as if to fill
a hole—one soul had rolled out of this world

I thought how the fall slips in before its time
leaves strain in the wind to blow off of the vine
But it leaves us with magic—almost divine
the green in this scene just fades out of this world

As the dog days of summer come to an end
A hundred young voices will sing to their friend
who taught love, social justice, peace of mind, hope for change
in this strange and dangerous world...

I thought how you were—looking out on the clouds
At ease even with strangers, but still shy of the crowds
A wizened coyote, playful and strong
your song for the long night drifts out of this world.

One lone cicada fell out of the trees
I still hear your songs, like joyful decrees
Birds are gathering in flocks heading south and I miss you
I wish you could know you were out of this world.

Copyright Tracy S. Feldman, All rights reserved