I rose this morning, stepped out to
Brace October chill, incumbent as the falling leaves
Come tumbling through the air, spent,
Unfettered from their hold on living hours—
One instant floating, the next within the ground,
Their green spent, all motion now in time
Bent as dark confession bends, the body
Finally freed to love in letting go the pain.
How many blue dawns are left
Before white multitudes descend, flashing
Apparitions as swans, as seagull’s wings
Spin wild in winter’s tumultuous skies?
Obscurity beckons as sure as prophet’s pledge;
Pardon condenses clearly in cold, bright morning air.
Hope sweeps upward to lofty heights as prayer.