The smoke hazes the setting sun
as the fire burns remains of the last crop
proffering ashes to the wind.

It's all the wind gets
as the memento of the last harvest.

On the new soil
once again there'll be tilling
and God willing
seeds waiting hope laden
will sprout into corn.

What's dead is to be reborn.

As I hear the wind blow through the leaves of the ancient cottonwood trees.
And I watch the squirrels gather their nuts and prepare for the coming winter, I'm reminded of a few things that come softly in the whisper of the autumn wind for all to hear, if they listen.

Behind the poem is a poet, a lover, maybe a mother or a father. But most of all there is a human being. They feel, and they love. They have been overwrought with pain. And enraptured by Joy. They need  compassion and friendship and the human touch.
Tread lightly, for you tread upon
their hearts.

Speak and question
Don't keep your lips sealed
You will gain nothing from it
Rather you will come to regret it
Suffocations over a long period of time often results in ailments and at times even tragedies

Although it's a bit unfair to choose between parents...ive always found my heart to be strongly biased towards my mom...and the reason for that I think is this... Among all the  people who have known me or have come to know me...no one understands or has been able to understand me quite as well as she does...its like she can feel every beat of my heart...and I guess that's what makes mothers so special..I deeply regret the times I've mistreated her.. The times I've misspoken to her...i wish I could go back in time and change those moments...I want to give her nothing save for joy and happiness for as long as I live.

a glimpse of
what might have been:
the candle
and the blow

pacing the floor
mind filled with nighthawks
stomach with bitter pills

snow on the window sill
--the long winter
of our love

it comes out of the blue
like dead reckoning

thoughts of us
unfinished

a hand withdrawn
the final wager on goodbye