le fantasmi galanti autunno del sacro anima
under a spell of rain
this cool September morning,
I bend low to hear my soul,
and in turning toward Winter
I find it hard to stay
warm and tucked
inside the promise
of being alive...
with a hot cup of tea,
I stir my broken self
raising my body to greet
the pale grey light
I try and understand
what causes me
to keep going...
idolatry and uniformity
casting a wide net of horses
riding out to meet me
where the exhales greet
what tomorrow knows...
is this world for me, it seems
it does not want to understand
the beauty of decay
though I keep saying
maybe today it will...
humpty dumpty is on the wall again,
a friend of fragile skin and golden heart
he understands as I do, why
I let some of the basil go to flower
everyone likes to watch
the slow bees
at the end of Summer
take to late nectar
and go to where
all beginnings can
meet their end...
EJR ©
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