September 30, 2012

poem 351 of a poem a day for 2012

October comes down with the rain

the patterns
drip drop nonstop
cloud to bend sorrow
a leavening of water
against ritual grains
and the odd rise
of bread and memory

an airplane groans
in the thick wet
cold syrupy air
cocooned in water
beneath the clouds
its propeller 
engine scream
kneads sound 
in a squeeze
above the river

the Moon starts
to shave the wane
for Her October
her courtesan
coming aboard
claiming what’s left
in the garden
as theirs

the whispers
between them regale
that the veil nears
ghosting clear
across the channel
that divides
the dead
from our exhales

every tiny embrace
is starting
to tear open
the portal decays
of the forest
so by the time
it is the next
belly full Moon
we are hunting
with frost
on the gourds
for the horned quiet
in the brown grasses
of each beginning
fattening up with Winter
and settling in for awhile


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