golds sink down
the sky strange magics
miraculous the bridges
of leaves under October’s
wintry dusks calm and at rest
russet and purple the
trees yearn for the darks
of a retreating world
each leaf falling forever
each leaf a ghost
of hidden centuries
where the night’s eternal
stars wait, beautiful
in the perfections of the sky.

you will go your way
despite my protests
no use lamenting
what was never promised
the sun rides low the horizon
soon it will not clear the treetops
storms gather in the northern sea
needled wind to scattered seed
hoary frost on yellowed grass
dark leaves in mirrored puddles
a suspended death
crystalline and indeterminate
there is no fire hot enough
to stave off the first chill
of a careless winter
the numb hibernating sleep
soft gray melting days
the desperate wish
to regain summer

Dig a quarter acre pond , keep it filled with clean , aerated water
and small fish will appear on their own before three summers have passed , I kid you not* ....

That time in spring, the sweetness
the yellow green of emerging leaves
the popping and exploding
the bright shattering of petals
lilac flowers in our hands.

Walking the woods with you
tracing deer trails for hours
along the rocky river bank
and in the sycamore forest
we saw the silver shining trees
impossibly branched and reaching
mingling in the vast blue sky.

In the deeper woods, mysterious birds
sang incessant songs, ancient and forlorn
always their singing is reminding me
of the endless beauty to be found
always a deeper feeling of love.

And that night, the wind
in the weeping willow
whispered the melancholy
song of how the blue-eyed
girl was gone...

Autumn,
a coffin closing.

Winter,
a coffin buried.

Spring
violets on a grave.

Summer,
the season of amnesia...

when we forget
all other seasons
and begin again
because we must.