Friday, November 06, 2009
what is it that isn't there?
The color of the trees before
their limbs went bare.
What is it that isn't there?
What remains is music
that floated once in air.
The sweater that you wore
held a single strand of hair.
Originally uploaded by garagesoap
Ghazal for October
My dog picks up his gait in October
Cool weather stepping for our Nate, in October
Nights cold, days sweater warm, the leaves blushed,
wrapped in red and gold for their date in October.
Behind the brown prickly heads of coneflowers
Grew peach-colored mums at the gate in October.
The moonlit walk through the dark dry leaves with candy
on our tongues, such sweet dreams, the bait in October.
The warm kitchen smells of cinnamon and apples.
Please… One more piece on my plate in October!
On the horse-pulled cart, a vine of voices,
Jostle to our pumpkin patch fate in October.
The forest symphony quit. Crickets and peepers
Packed their instruments and now its silent, late in October.