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.