Never Leaving October

rain
acorns and dead-fall
going down
on unheard birds

October's dim cadence drifting eastward from the dunes. Wood smoke, leaves and confluence curling. I pass on the offer for mushrooms because even though all things are on the table, commitment to set and setting matters, which is to say, you.

Born in October and therefore never leaving October. Common colors for some burn as hot as fire for others. Was the cross of Christ made of dogwood, do you think? Cedar? Pine? I do not know as much about hemlocks as I'd like. Regardless of the calendar we are to move past holy, of course.

Sentences as a spiritual practice, which is to say love notes, which is to say, the moon really isn't apart from the sea.

Desire rises into cupped hands and released to the river. Everyday. What else is this life for? Falling backward off the cliff is different than falling forward.

Whoever cannabis is, she took me to the break in eternity when I was allowed to watch you sleep and she reminded me that it is all so much more than a poem.