Mid November lingers still

with the aroma of sunlight

and the ghost of sliced peaches



We leave the windows cracked

on 65 degree days, 

when the sky is blue

and the wind is blustering



Keen to hear its voice

whispering secrets alongside 

melodies of chimes ringing

in unison with the falling leaves



And the trees are dancing

in an act of praise

to the cycles of change

and the end of days


Knowing.



Every winter begets spring

in resurgence, when

death breathes life
into 
the sleeping glen



and in the valley of death

on nightfall’s pillow

the sun mingles with hushing shadows

brilliance, set low in subtlety

only gleaned by sharpest eyes



So I’ll capture

a flash of time exposed

keep it in a bottle in the back of my mind

diverge and recombine

and light the world up



and when the moon beams down on its lover

and the sun admires her from afar

I’ll know the cosmos glisten, just out of sight

teeming with unknown color