Somehow it’s fall again
and the leaves are just changing
with the array I like so much,
the rusts, the golds, the bloods, the deep
greens and browns of things just past
their prime. I don’t think I’ve had a prime
yet but if I did, it would feel the way
I feel with you every time I see you,
heart skipping like it’s the first time
(or maybe the last) but for sure something
special like the moon is special,
seen but not really noticed.
Sort of like a beautiful fall leaf
once it’s fallen, with all its colors
and a glorious backstory
that people will step over, but we know
that October brings new love
amid the harvest and the fallen.

the physics
of sound in fog;
a sense of muffling

today, my skin doesn’t fit
and the air is rubbing me
the wrong way

I feel a willful nonchalance
about time and direction
-a relief after chasing them so long

a settling of hums in the trees
as we forget flight awhile
and look to what makes a home

not knowing where to go
or who to be or what to do next
is a sixth dimension problem

at the end of things
-if there are endings-
we are One in the Fog

I don’t know how we reminisce
about times we haven’t had
but it feels like we come together
at a point when what converges
is a mess of unseen wires,
colorful emotions, and a song
that sounds like a night bird
celebrating the moon.
I have little sense of where
my feet are landing lately
and no idea what tomorrow
will look like out my window.
The seasons are changing
within and without.

It’s just a chair.
You talked and I listened
mostly, though I watched as much
as I heard. Your eyes and hands
are so eloquent.
You sat mostly still, though I squirmed
imagining how we’d fit in that chair.

A generous bit of planning
that furniture maker had, though
it seems there was a “higher” purpose
for such a piece lovingly carved,
though I can think of no higher purpose
than what we are.

Later, when I think back, I wonder
how the pieces of conversation will fit:
patterns, emotions, history, the way
light hit your face, our laughter, the way
my toes curled at your gaze
as I talked, knowing you really heard me.
You were almost regal in that chair
and I felt like I was in a genie’s lamp,
ready to be dusted off and unleashed.
Was this just another daydream?

A faint ticking of the clock
in the next room
and we’re fading
from each others’ view.
Blackout curtains
and a battle not forgotten.
Elephants dance the tango
or maybe it’s perspective,
like strapping in or on
and grabbing a spoon,
having at it when a moon is ready
to fall from orbit.
I don’t know what to make of it
when there are no tears left,
only a hunger and an ache
where important things used to rest.
We dance on a quiet planet,
beyond moonrise and fall,
or maybe it’s just a dream.