A Pause Midflight

A magician's hand has passed this way
Across the trees along the Bay,
And in its wake left rusts and golds,
A playbill for what soon unfolds.
Or bits of yarn in a patchwork quilt
Of field and farm that no one built.
Not singly, yet as each man lives
He has a hand in shaping this.
And soon I too must play my part,
But gently, gently, restless heart.