September 29, 2012

poem 347 of a poem a day for 2012




in the steam on the kitchen windows


I will remember this day
the deep billowy grey
darkening the skies
and coming alive
these clouds 
are roiling courtesans
they pinpoint 
in pierce yellow 
the barely held green
at the top 
of a small maple tree
I have spied
through the houses
at the back corner
of the yard

shards of Sun
smell an entry here
tell the other trees
that bleeding time is here
that under the full Moon
rapture becomes
the capture harvest gleam
as all the seams
are ripped open
this time of year

we know the bare
sentinel desire
we circle our time with
what is inside us
that has never been broken
we hear the ghosts
of circled eons
best beneath the wind
in the calendar of investments
when we call the fire,
rain and rooted earth
to all that remain
in our plain view of things

we turn the wheel
along the way
one might remember
each moment gone by
in the sound
of its final breath
the postcards of Summer
for instance
are sowing themselves
into the fertility
of shadows under
what sunlight leaving
leaves behind

there are bonfires
in those trees
in these maples
that bind
that burn sugar
back to the rain
they say in cackles
and hisses
that Autumn is here
with its attendant revelry
and regales of orange,
red and yellow
they are letting 
the eyes know
to close and take stock
in the scented sacrifices
that are rising all around us
in the sweet decay swaying
that covers the carve
of the wind
and goes where memory
is another cave we seek
to shelter ourselves
from Winter with

EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. Wow! A true gem! Thank you for the images and emotions that dance all the way through it as one reads !

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