casts huge leaf shadows on dirt
and the mockingbird's mocking me.

"mockingbird,"
I put my hands in my pocket
and pretend a smile,
"some things you can't out run,
church bells and a wedding dress,
funeral processions and baptisms,
the cop car radio,

she was so beautiful in her wedding dress,"

I'm pointing my finger up at the mockingbird,
"so I'm a few steps ahead of you in heartache,

it was a toss of the dice,"I tell the bird,

"I threw a handful of rice."

"so don't look sad at me, bird.
everyone gets hurt."

and on her branch in the sycamore tree
the mockingbird's crying to me...

"I'm a few years ahead you...
Sweet One, lonely bird.

I've walked through fire,
stared into the wall of shadow and sorrow
into the cold silence of tomorrow.

I hear what you're telling me, Dear One,
loves been a little ******* you, too,

and there in illusion lies the danger
so please be kind, my friend,

the sorrows that never seem to fade away
become the grey, dark sea,
and sunlight through the Sycamore tree.

I put the seats
back in my
beat up Ford Fiesta.
Four drinks in,
my first bottle of soju,
a great night
with a new friend.

Something’s shifting,
healing,
and I’m scared
of what might come.
I tremble,
cold biting my skin
Like fire ants,
a lit cigarette
flares on my nails
with every drag.

Leaves are falling.

River streams whisper,
Unconscious dreams cascading,
Infertile, fall fades.

torn pigeon wings mashed on a sidewalk,

loath to square a foot.

clarity stunned to drifting, a pale blue

blotch of sky--evening's vignette.

the smoky mouth of a panting wolf, snaps

closed with a lick & a sigh.

the moon ails under an aggressive form

of illusion, smiles bravely for a slow

shutter lens.

as a moment says: I am in a clock, but not

of it.

these last leaves do something to keep

falling, even after they come down.