When the earth tilts just so, an affluent moon rests on one hand, sunstar on the other. In this balance, I disintegrate. On the way, sunlight strobes between steps. I pretend to send the universe a message with a walking Morse code. This way is okay.
Geese as splitting wedges, dividing an otherwise silent sky. Morning makes promises I'll try to keep. As the canopy disappears, I get greedy for light in the house. Screens come down. Indoor plants find their winter place. I thought the church pew should be in house; it looks good. With autumn's lambent slant, I can see all the chewing gum stuck under the lip of the long bench. One man's boredom is another's idyllic muse. Thank you for coming, Light.
And again the impossible moon.
October and her harvest lamp
for all that is