Yellow moon,
Round spotlight in an
Early wintery morning,
Fog lifting from the
Frosted fields, a
Close porous mantle 'round
The restless owl.
He'd been hooting
As I drifted off,
Was plaintive when
I woke; the room moon-bright,
My blinded sleep sealed
Wakeful in the silent house.
Alone I strain to recognize
The settling creaks
And sighs of the old place,
The changing darkness
Of the full moon waning
Stirring near-noiseless creatures
Moving on the metal roof
And along the gables,
Big as running bears in
A wary, undreamt landscape.
If he were here I'd have
Tossed and turned
To shield away
The interrupting moon,
And not heard a thing but
The voices in my dream:
Wake up, wake up,
There just might be
A new day waiting, coming;
We're calling now,
We're ready now
For you to claim the light.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Sunday, October 4, 2015
North Woods
Russet on the golden miles
The swaths of bracken bronzing
Into nestled corm to sleep
Amid the thistle and scrub pine
Giving way to watery
Bogs, to kettle lakes
Rimmed by boulders and outcroppings.
We drive consumed by shouting silence
Of conversation unimagined
When we were young and
Starting off in a world
Undimmed by so much peril.
But I still carry him, although
He's gone forever, leaving
Memory in the stillness of my heart,
Ahead of days that roll uncertain
Into a dark where no light shines.
And yet a door was opened once,
And I will never close it,
Meanwhile the maple and the birch trees
Shed their leaves,
My season metamorphose
As with theirs, because
All things must change,
Although for some of us,
All things will stay the same.
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