How Blunt Should I Be?

Today the river is open
as a cutlery drawer full
of sharpened knives.

There is the whisper of landing
ducks and the gentle bow
of water from the rower. 

The hanging brush-strokes
of the leaves fleck the scene
with browns and greens, 

and the wind pushes them
like some vague muse. 
Over there, a fallen leaf 

has the appearance
of a human ear,
but I do not mention it.