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Poem

I met November;
with its calico seals of Samhain
slain in a fair death
and bled by symptoms of naked hours
and loneliness.

I shivered with
the Strange dread,
not of predator
or prey
but the threat
of being siphoned too deeply,
into phone -cord spirals;
into the greedy sponge of Midnight veils
that wave amidst alabaster winds.

I found myself swathed in a patient void
where
sepia changelings in breezes
brushed desperate hands
and manipulated
a restless heart.

I was so long compromising,
imagining
warmth from stagnant shadows
and seasons circled in windswept dances,
where the choreography seemed to
alleviate me of reality.

But now,
the Autumn frolics
whisper of winter,
spreading a carpet of gossip
scrawled on tablet sheaves
the prose of windswept vows
that leave empty souls as they pass on,
gust to gust,
heart to heart
and stroke the conscious mind
and castrate the thread
that welds Love and Dream together.

Until,
the white ash of burnt love
tucks small flaming shards of hope
into a heavy envelope
and seals it with hushed lullabies
and promises
of a Spring.

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