this final cable
of autumn

heavily fettered
in thick leafspit

and bit pieces
of dented crowns

drags along the ground
knocking

about the stalks
and stems

we speed
through life

with all its tiny gifts
all its tiny deaths

we dig
in the dirt

gaze
at the untrimmable dusk

until the lights go out
until they come back on

the moth flew        to the right
and then                 to the left

back and forth
forth and back

ping ponging
between the headlights of my car

fragile little wings of white deep in a winter’s darkness
adding to the confusion

was an unexpected november snow
the moth did not seem to mind

the heavy flakes that fell
some as big as its own body

within
and without

we are so tiny
in our lives

we are so tiny
in our world

the crows took exception to the man
being so high up in the tree

and they called out for some kind of justice to be served
in reply the chainsaw sighed and breathed

as boughs and branches found the ground
leaves already unsettled with the grey of november finally fell free

make sure
to
take the time
to
take the time
to
watch this world that whirls
in
and around you

the drizzle down
of reds

and yellows
the yukimushi

with their quiet proclamations
the crows feathering

through the blue sky
the blunt sleep

of snow
the afternoon light

across the pages
of my book

moments
that stand still

in a world
that absolutely

refuses to