Reckon

It is already winter coming on. 

Hardly even had the time for

That spring.

Worlds collide,

Not just one thing and

Everything as well. 

These are not easy passages, 

In the same way that 

When worlds collide

There is some sense that

Must be made, otherwise

Without one’s own brimming

Scary magic,

(We all have brimming 

Scary magic)

There’s just a long

Dutiful slog through to a grey end, so

I tell myself feel the 

Newness everywhere, and

In the swirl of it all,

I find myself becoming mute

Sometimes, 

Trying hard to listen to 

Myself, not having much to

Give, as I’m taking it all in

I listen to my returning language,

To what wakes with me, what 

Speaks to me, and

I am very quiet listening 

When the night comes on.

All of who I am is whole cloth.

Now, I’ll call these fraying edges lace,

I’ve the feeling that my wings have lift,

I’ve got to think that everything I’ve 

Thought and pondered on is part of

My reality, the bundle 

Of my own life light, and 

The glittering scary magic when 

Those brimming worlds collide ...

It’s the winter part that slays me.