Fall
Sometimes,
I walk the banks of
That ageless river,
For hours, it seems,
In autumn, when the leaves fall
With that damp riverbed smell,
Lost in the backwards
Journey of thought
Until the antlers
Of a roaming buck
Stick out of the crisp air
Like miniature spires,
As the animal looks at a man
Who is sitting
On a bench,
Beads of sweat running down
A weathered countenance
A face bathed in suspicion,
Sparks of trust ignited
At the buck,
At me,
At a world that’s overwhelmed by the
finale of October leaves,
Until the sun is weakened
By the quickening of twilight,
And the man lifts a bottle of beer
Sipping peacefully,
And the present moment
Is tucked away
Allowing space for imagined shadows
On the ground to
Dance in the wind.
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