Come October

Come October

 

Come October, I seem, always,

to be meeting my self again,

as if I’ve been away

 

or forgotten

to look up for a very

long while until

 

Light! Oh, light!

that honeyed, autumn light

drips a long, low nod

 

across the southern sky,

catches my breath

and holds it

 

until I return, fully, to this body,

eyes open and still

enough to see

 

the luminous leaves of this golden ash,

the soft–shouldered waltz of the mourning doves,

the view from these eyes, this moment.

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