For Aunt Gretchen
Behind the old dream,
Arriving autumn sun drops early
Behind maples and the orange Octobers.
Driving home from town,
The halo lingers, sun slanting in behind
The western ridges, and
Across the road into the village.
The canopy is up-lit gold,
Branches bending across
The two lanes, like
A trip into the fairy world.
Far away old longings waft,
Slight breezes in the
Change of seasons, and
The homeostasis settles.
Not that it is the right or happy
Place, but it
Is the known, and
Breathing deep and quiet
In the pulsing night
The what might have been
And what might be
Is as alive
As anything, is
Not confined to
Any present, and enduring.
I hum an indistinct tune,
Recalling what she said to me
As I departed home, for home:
Listen to yourself, she said.
I search for sleep, filing
Tomorrow’s tasks, and weary; and
Suddenly it all
Makes perfect sense.
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