hunt and ripe on an eastern bluff above the Hudson...

hunt and ripe on an eastern bluff above the Hudson

(Autumn is 
doe eyed 
and hoove-d 
her tail is down(y)
pulsing in perches, 
watching me)

down the rabbit hole 
hounds release 
birds scavenge 
the hearty hardy(s) 
and swoops under 
wielded bright stabs 
of pre-gloaming 
late afternoon 
odd warmth air
in clothes 
made of hurry flies 
above the fence line...

October sunlight 
highlights decay 
tourniquet to filet...

the hounds 
are what 
a soul needs 
when cages 
turn wings
to release what
it has dressed 
in its desires 

most everyone 
in these kinds 
of parts, old river valleys 
full of thieves 
and retired sea-farers
are a tenaciously clung 
and hard-scrabble bleeding 
variety of spiritual vessel
most of the time 
we pour out...

we tell stories 
in living blooms, 
wombs and tombs 
we got old cemeteries 
and saloons
in upstate ny 
for this is a land 
of ancient erode 
and even before 
our mottled bones 
were steeped 
with writhe and worms here
languages arose 
in the mists 
and shadows 
of the fall...

they told how 
every breath it seemed 
this time of year
was perfectly ready 
to join the poem 
and paint everything 
in the mystery 
of descent
before Winter 
arrives...

EJR ©