An October-made Moon

2011/12/21

An October-made moon hangs high
in the vaulted, echoing eaves
whispering windy secrets
through wet silence.

One of several souls
weathers the cold night asking,
paints sopping birds of sky
on the windowsill.

There is a smudge on the calendar
where October used to be.

Heaven presses down upon the Earth
like waves breaking on an impossible shore.
The sound of the slapping shutters recedes,
while a weary gaze drifts...

and is suddenly engulfed!
the leaves, the leaves
they fall, they fall
they dance until the ground
turn darkness into light,
brass among the blue