tassled leaves sheet
the ground

and the wind leaks colder
through the trees

shadows stain
the flagstones ink blue

last evening
the high mountains

already white
with sweeps

of snow
gleamed

beneath a new moon
autumn leans well

into winter's keep
grief are you listening?

do you ever sleep?

hands clasped
in color

the leaves spin
in cotillion

ash
and ginko twinge

green
to gold

it is not
so much

that i miss you

in the very early hours
of the morning

after         my mother died
after         the final bit of warmth left her hands
after         the doctor arrived to sign the death certificate
after         the two men from the hospital morgue arrived to take her
                 body
after         thanking the night nurse the one who taught me how to  
                 take my mother's pulse
after         finding my way through the quiet hospital to parking
                 garage

i got in my car
and drove to the exit gate

i could not find
the parking ticket

i checked everywhere
and just could not find it

i pressed the call button
and a voice said

good morning this is peter how can i help you?

good morning peter this is michael my apologies but i lost my parking ticket

don't worry he said just have a nice day

and with that
the gate opened

even from the timber road
well above the farm

there was no mistaking
the fox

a bright flame
bounding up

and down
through the pale green stubble

of the autumn rice fields
hints of red

and orange already tint
the green mountains

our shadows stretch longer
as winter grows stronger

we ease
across the surface

of the lake
the wind

gently erasing
our wake

above the autumn lake
two black eared kites dive

and climb
and call to each other

three loons launch
across the lake

the heron
powder blue

stands stone still
on the sandy shore

we are all wild music
we are all songs vanishing