img_20161119_153312501_hdrNothing to Rely On but October

Crisp wood in the shed
like a story snipped from memory
perfect for burning
stacked away from July or August
retold, dry secrets
tall columns of hot hours
slow bake no sap or water
a simple bit of fragrance
cedar or aspen or loss
to kindle to fire to ash to end amen

Left to weather the elements all alone
no more refined than any other girl
perhaps that is why she dreams
from a window trying for a glimpse
of rain to drum up the fading perfume
of fallen leaves and pumpkins.
There is perhaps no other truth.

Poignancy and comfort rest
in a good night’s sleep
after the storm has spilled its load
and quilts have left their dusty piles
spread about, the ash pans line the drive
the squirrels empty the lids of crazy acorns
with purpose like the whipping
wind and the animals hugging my side
on stormy mornings

Autumn’s sting was so pretty
you hardly felt the bite
or noticed wilting blossoms
birds have taken flight
the seasoned logs wait
for slow death by fire
no simple sacrifice

I must find that sweater
a hole in the elbow
hidden at the funeral
just a sprinkling of ashes
un-retrieved packages
grow old to find peace
no more funerals please


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