Praise the Light of Late October
So soon we have reached the cusp
of October where we trade in
our apples and peonies
for pumpkins and sweet alyssum.
The outstretched arms of the United States winter
are already blanketed in white frost,
the ground hardening
like a pot in the kiln.
The light mahogany fur
of ground squirrels and groundhogs
are inflated with months of warmth,
as they finish the final scramble
for any last oaknuts.
We salt meat, preserve our fruits in syrup,
close the jars tightly
as we close up on the last
remnants of summer
and outdoor plans.
The breeze is cool
and carries the dead leaves
with it, turning
my nose a pale turquoise.
As the Earth’s golden hour
owers the volume on life,
we can finally sit by the fireplace
and share our inner stirrings over merlot,
or spiced tea.
Clouds
Soft clouds whisper themselves
across the horizon
taking their secrets with them
to far off lands.
The sun clocks out,
finished with its work
for the day.
Birds return to their nests
and quiet their song
as the spirit of slumber
stretches its arms
over November’s frosty hills.
I don’t know who or what God is,
I don’t know how or why there is
such beauty
in the eyes of a lover
or in this sunset before me,
but I do know
there is something within.
There is something stirring in all of us:
the passengers on this earth ship,
always just below Heaven.
Is There More?
Are there only human ghosts?
Or is this supernatural realm
populated by swirling fish,
see-through sea cucumbers,
and floating pink coral?
Are there ghost gardeners
attending to their ghost orchids,
and ghost children blowing on
ghost dandelion seeds?
What if there are other
worlds just as vibrant
and beautiful as our own?
What if in death
we finally begin to dream?
