Thursday, October 22, 2009

First Sign of Fall

Wooden knuckles of bare branches knock on the window
And spin around in a wind dance as clouds close in.

Then, rain drops slap, surprised, against the glass
What a fall from thousands of feet to come to that end!

You shouted your last exit from this house one year ago,
And for a moment your shape re-appears.

Tonight the compost of that memory slips
Into the cradle this empty house.

Red clouds under lit by a low sun sink
Just where the land ends and the bay begins.

Just outside, I can hear a little girl
Shrieking in delight that she’s seen a ghost.

Quieter still it grows as a single dog barks
Into the blanket of charcoal night.

October 2009