the symbol of grace
and need
an empty bowl
open palms
a broken heart
wretched and worn
I fall praying only
for grace
and the reconciliation
of autumn rain
deep throated thunder
distant as grief
present as oncoming gray
rain clouds
I reconcile my fear and anger
with oncoming winter
and my fall from grace
Pale and threaded,
the needles nest in rough patches
releasing the scent, resinous
of pine forests
and her true home.
Tall trees stand
in her dreams, waking
and sleeping. I brush
the leaves from her hair.
Gathering fog,
I nest my heart in clouds,
its hollow sound echoing
with the song of autumn
and loss.
(This is a repost of a poem written last fall)
sepia tones of fallen leaves and clotted clouds
reflect on still water and the ease
of breath,
light and shadow.
with every leaf pale hour,
the minutes fall,
leaves floating on the cool north breeze
each wishing for equilibrium
in autumnal rest.
thecourseofourseasons 