Messages from Autumn
When it is time to go under
We load the barrel and say goodbye.
Leaves underfoot sending
Clear messages from Autumn.
The dead walking into my mind
Slowed by the soul’s minimal process.
My heart ripped out
And green as someone’s coming of age.
My days, a strange fruit
Bruised by circumstance and wind.
I let the world go
And it fades under the weight
Of that luminous trespass.
. . .
Every day the god inside the calyx,
The dark eye of circumstance,
Lifts his savage head, and the
Violent blossoming begins.
Tribulation of birth, the gentle
Juggernauts of blood,
Cities in sinkholes while the heart
Eats love asunder.
On the coast, in these tender bursts of sun,
We do not imagine the red giant it will become.
Warm toast, coffee burnt and deep,
Love not yet lost, sitting by your side,
The Adriatic a small dime in starfall.
And yet the burning, meticulous and slow,
Always coming, neither holy nor just,
But perfectly a law, a verdict inalterable,
In praise of nothing.
. . .
Parting the Branches
You were always coming to yourself
Mysteriously, in the deep of winter
Or with soft steps over the soft slush
Of a river at the start of spring.
Parting the branches, you stirred
Your own life with the rustling
Of leaves behind you,
With the sound of someone
Moving in the dark.
In that dream you sometimes had
You moved desperately through a clearing
To touch the shoulder of your own reflection
As it caught remnants of the moon
Falling to pieces overhead.
Years later, you found your body
In a quiet opening
With a mouth full of flowers
And all the strange creatures of the meadow
Sniffing at your bones.