First star channels
     a hymn from a hammock

Leave a trail for me
     in the new grass
     I will weave back around it
as I trace the code of our pasts

I will glide back through
Like two snakes

Each print of my feet
     a press on fresh cells
Merges me with you back
          seeping to the soils

Keep speaking to me through the fire through the clouds
through the first body of light in a quickly darkening sky

In that space, we deny
all that is fear from dying

From here, there’s only “feel”
And from everywhere,  is “Love”

More.

Stars spark from a deeping, clear, blue winter sky as
the moon prepares to enter the scene, stage left.

A breeze sweeps away the last blushes of sunlight and
evening caroling-bells, ring like wind-chimes.

The evening chill makes students walking back from
classes seem to walk a little closer for warmth.

Students, huddled to nail down evening plans seem to smoke,
like the exhaust of cars exiting campus in bumper to bumper traffic.

Wet sidewalks, like dark and winding mirrors, twist reality, inverting
and reflecting lights - bending them into pointing the way home.

She's gone
left so many
wonderful memories of love.
She's grown
between
dawn and dusk.

The first days of fall are always warmer than I remember. It just takes one cold morning to make me want the glare back. Now I'm looking for any reason to go outside before dusk begins to swallow afternoons. I'm checking the mail on a Sunday. I'm carrying a broken lamp to the shed. I don't miss July and its quite seethe. I miss the beginning. I miss not knowing when it would end. It's a slice of sponge cake, a half-erased underline left behind in a book that I can't put down. I'll go inside and read it until the pages begin to curl. My nails were made for digging into palms. I only ever want to stay when I know it's time to go.

Dusk,
An orchard in the sky,
Of clementines,
grapes,
plums,
peaches,
fruit abounding,

Families,
mothers,
fathers,
little brothers,
babies,
All stir
In the direction of
Laying down,
Sleep,
Rest,

Every family,
picks fruit from the orchard,
One by one,
until there’s
Nothing
but a blueberry
canvas,
with stars filling in

All heads
Hit pillows
Blankets
Fold over shoulders
Eyes close to
loved ones,
stuffed creatures,
and favorite toys

They all
give in
to the steady
Cadence
of nights
in Suburbia