This is part of my “from the porch” series where I am writing from my, um, porch, just channeling whatever comes in on the antennae, so without further delay…

10.24.2018

long gone are the soft summer nights

on this night full moon high

the august sun, is faded words on bristled pages now

the silence – – –

the silence and the still drowns out

still, desperate leaves cling

on the now loudly breeze, passing

once comfort now certain coming

for all fruits shall meet the earth

and ground, and fall, and rot

in the cold space, as the calendar turns

hope is easily dashed upon these shores

lashed by what was no more

the world retreats curls into a womb

to be born again anew (with hope)

so might a slumber rest

and unshined eyes forget

dreams to carry through this death

may a door emerge on waking breath