That night, you would have found me,
sitting in a tree and watching the fireworks
from the city in slow motion,
opening themselves like lilies,
framing the night with sparks,
fanning into the darkness their sweet perfume.

My nadir, reflected in your eyes,
I see the light of the full moon.
Rippling like silk,
soft to the touch like velvet.
What creatures lurk beneath those waves?
What jaws will close around my curious hand?

I hadn't meant to spy on them; just one of my evening walks along the beach.  Moonlight gleaming on wet teenage backs.  Horseplay crackling in their young male voices-- “King of the Hill” from a rusty life guard chair.  I like these memories, the ones that just occur-- when everything is there again....

Coming to find myself again in October.  Long trudge to the “Shanty Village” gets me thinking about the wrinkled hand that first took me close to the ageless roar and seething.  Skirted bathing suit, indelible tremble of voice-- the woman bringing me beyond the fear that had watched all day from those cautious castles, after being so rudely trounced!   She helped me make my peace with what I could neither own nor tame— the sea and me.  We walked along the channel then, watching slender fishes in their school-- that even fish would go to school!  We had to laugh.  Scorching the soles of my feet in the parking lot!  Oo-ah-oo-ah! Forgot my flip-flops!
_

October now, piling sand along the roadside....  First kiss at Cooks Brook Beach.  Surf breaking over this jetty, could have been my heart.  I think his name was Stan....

How can people leave their flowers still blooming in window boxes?  In the cottage quiet, I can almost picture... bicycles leaning by dripping shower stalls.  Beach umbrellas, the smell of suntan lotion,  kids roving in barefoot bands....  Fall packs them all away.

While cold advances on the struggling song of crickets, a man, wearing a painter's hat and whistling, does the unthinkable-- hammers plywood over his shanty's windows.  I think that summer people can close their eyes.  We, of October, have vivid memories-- savoring sources that linger in their endings.  Coming late—staying long beyond the leaving-- sleeping warm in winter sands.

On my way
To the Lambton Health Unit,
I saw a child in a window,
Holding up a sign.
Be Positive, it sparkled.
Only if I'm negative, I mused.

The trees lose their leaves, there clothing. I slowly start to lose my grip. My hands have only ever wanted the bark.
The air becomes crisp. The higher you climb the further you fall, the harder it hits. as soon as I lost my grip, I lost you as well.
The temperature drops sharply at night. Just as sharp as the blade I drag across my arms, as the trees lose there clothing I add on, long sleeves and pants to cover the "bark"

The touch of you makes me quiver and it fixes my line of sight

Running away from his destiny
Taking a breath
Looking for an eternity
Afraid of life and its bitter faith
Carrying a heavy body.
Running to death
Yearning for a moment of security
Out of breath
Running away from his destiny
Throwing a sight
Need to know the sun and its light
The earth and its perpetual fight.
All lead to a the same site
Left is getting right
Fight becomes a human right
None of us will run away from
That gloomy night.

I was bleak
Dying upon the floor
I wished I had sought
The lost
The rare and radiant, the angels

Here

Dancing, you are Spring;
Birds flock to see your song, yet
Night falls and silence-

Silence but for the
Stars and moon who mock us in
Our bed, our Winter.