October 27, 2012

poem 403 of a poem a day for 2012

staring into brittle gold

remembering leaves
pauses me
fans relief
stretches sculptures
from the waves
from the wind
beginning in Spring
and onto Summer
through Autumn
through green to bleed
through the death knells
scratching at the door
of a soul’s forged well
they draw these bells
of scattered memories
afoot into dreams
and they are all
waiting to be 
caught in the walkways
like I am right now
clutching spun wheel chances
from the Sun to the rain
marking each step
into this warm
late October afternoon
as another gait
another rhythm
another story 
to tell


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