All Tributaries of Living

Marigolds still!
Orange and yellow layer on itself in the last of October.
Forgotten acorns take hold and black maple leaves pile like ash against the neighbor's yet-green lawn.
Turkeys pick through the new compost area and tip the wheelbarrow full old tomato plants.
Now is not the time to waste sunlight.

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Hours east; hours west.
Dead deer bodies mound on highway borders along with sorrowful prayers for a life of grace finished.
Dylan, caffeine, and the thrumming road ignites some kind of high that tingles down my spine and off into all tributaries of living.
My church.
My cross.

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One laughs with the whole body upon realizing there really is no bottom!
Here now; thank you for waiting.
No longer hiding.
No longer longing.
Completion in Love and surrender.

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Idols on notice.
No one is special because we are one and when the gears finally lock into place, inadequacy burns off like oil on a hot engine.
In my rear view mirror an imperial moon rises before the sun sets.
Perhaps now I can wish you only peace.
And you are not the only one.