She is mathematics,
bare necessity in numbers

Curvature and roundness,
symmetrical circumference
lies in the rise of her hips

A tanned half moon,
a breast

A pose

The fall equinox begins
in the shadow
of the small of her back

Night looms beyond, below
connecting beauty's dots

Her body reclines,
hand resting between waist
and hip, an impasse

Head at rest
held by soft hand.

Death is part of life
        They tell us
Yet still we grieve
Still we are bereft
It is our most human trait
It is our noblest gift --

This mourning love for another,
Going past the gates of breath
        and consciousness
Beyond touch and sight
To a place in that distant
        comforting light
Where we all will gather
Someday;

It brings us peace,
And we go on
        by remembering joy --

I rise from my writing chair
Shake off my poet's robes
And step outside into a
       kaleidoscope of fallen leaves
        and hints of chimney smoke;
Dusky sky slung so low
The tall poplars scrape against it --

Summer's last cicadas are rasping out
        a catchy tune of life in the woods
And a crush of juncos has gathered
        closeby for seeds and conversation;
They know the crispy bite of
        near-winter nights is ever closer --

It strikes me
I am bound to this place with clipped
        wings, yet I feel a wanderlust
        I cannot deny.
Oh that I could fly south like
The little gray wrens mobbing my feeder.

How I aspire to be like them:
They must be so brave
        to gladly live in this world --

The only home I know
beats
in my chest
        This one heart
Guards my stories

You are there

But our poetry
Yours and mine
Rests in the
        Sleep of inertia