Slivers of light break through
Blankets of clouds
Illuminating October hills.
The canopy of leaves grows thin
While every bush is burning.
When I glimpse into the mirror
I see everything except my face.
Nothing is as it was yesterday.
Nothing is as it seems to be.
Everything is quickening as
Outdoors every bush is burning.
Long ago, I gave up trying to clarify
Circumstances that surround, unfold.
The lake seems covered with slate.
Smoke drifts from fireplaces far
Down the road, around the bend.
Every bush is burning
As I take off my shoes.