Give me October—
Its drooping, sleepy leaves,
Its contemplative fog, swimming in softly
On the backs of somber sea turtles. Give me the
Jagged blades of sunlight at morning, the crisp and
Fragrant ribbons of air. Give me the wild geese,
Flying south for refuge. There are, too, the
Singing cemeteries, stones sounding symphonies;
Groundcover colored by the glossy quilt of
Blood-orange foliage in rapid decline.
Is there anything more exquisite, a thing more beautiful
In death? Leaves subside to dust, ashes smother flames,
And death falls down to death. Yes,
Give me October—
Its shifting tides, moon-pulled and pregnant,
Vivid and beautifully irreversible.
There are the germinating crops, latent and snug;
There are the hibernating bears, latent and snug;
There is, burgeoned in a self-spun chrysalis,
The ever-stirring creature called change.