Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

What is it called?

When thousands of bats
Come pouring out the mouth of a cave
For the black gold of sunset?

Like that
The late autumn leaves tear from their branches
In a spooky warm gale
Misplaced this Halloween night

Buries the party of cars parked on the street
For the last three days of vigil
Tending to 100-year-old Lillith
Next door

Her bedroom window 30 feet from me
Where I stand in short sleeves
Amazingly
This time of year

I too wait for news

As I watch the tree tops crumble
And the puzzle pieces of starry sky
Connect their arms and fill the gaps

Creamy river Milky Way

Maybe they are holding Lillith’s hands
Asking her questions about the beyond

And knowing Lillith
She’s ignoring them all or mumbling
Oh yes yes

Peering outdoors through her curtains

Listening to my wind chimes
Ding
Like a harbored sailboat’s mast
Lashed by its pulleys and hoists

Nothing left of Lillith’s sail

Of course it would be a wind like this
On a magical night like this
That carries her away in its arms

Over the roofs and pumpkin streets
To the new October stars.

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