The end is artificial. We always knew
And put it there to make the shadow
Of what follows seem smaller
*
In the end’s private library
Past volumes beyond count
Each with only the last leaf
Tucked between dusty boards
The end finds a bookmark
*
The end is a bridge
We have crossed before
From the other side
So long has passed all
That’s the same is the bridge
October, like a bird my son has never seen
Until today, in his tenth time through the month.
October the penultimate, telling you the end
Is next but it’s the one after.
October shown without commercial interruption
With the generous support of spring, summer,
Birds, skunks, possum, screech owls, moonlight,
Children, snowmelt, drugstores, the sandman,
The sandman. October the candy wrapper
And the not knowing who opened it
And if it was you and was it yours
And does it matter. You blink your eyes
Because of all I’ve left
Out and which only you could tell yourself
And how it wouldn’t fit,
None of it, and that’s October, too–
The mirror you’ve been looking at
Forever that’s actually someone else.
For all the stars we see as we walk home
These bright leaves spin beneath our feet
A dark rose blooms in the far corner of the month.
Ceiling-fan shadows migrate across an upside-down world
For long moments after the switch has been flipped.
The continuous migration, slowing. That’s our life.
Before the soft rain the leaves
Finally sing their groundswell chant
They who met the sun first each day
Now embracing the earth without regret
Walking through the leaves releases
Whispers of crisp wishes burning
The air we breathe is on fire with wishes
The soft rain gathers in the branches
Overhead, hovers, a dark respectful canopy.
It’s not used to going any farther but where
Are the hands that caught it so easily
And sent it to the center of things
Mid-week in late October:
a New England apology.
Like the bird thought extinct
Seen pecking a mailbox post
It gives away nothing
But the ability to go on.
They have argued before: now heart
And mind walk hand in hand,
In the skunkworks of autumn,
Where the moon’s rise and fall
Is one heartbeat charted
On the night’s sheet.
It moves with such patience
We almost think our dreams
And our days are walking with us
And not staring as we pass by.
