Lakes Fall Asleep

Is there such a thing as an infinite lover?

Night lengthens beyond my comfortable boundaries and I begin to oppose my body even more. These passages through time begin to matter less, however, October light is still something of a fragile vessel on course for rough seas. Wells will freeze and lakes fall asleep.

Seedum capsizes in blushing heaviness. Those who romanticize falling leaves and apple-picking seem to have an ability to look past the process of dying. Then again, companion plants! Chamomile, mint, sage. Together we defer our bankruptcy.

In the dark tides of midnight more stars arrive by which to read life. Weaker morning light lends a laziness into sabbath. I wonder how Love remains the thing resisted – a force hovering over sky-colored glass – the scent of sea-wind 800 miles off shore.

Marigolds blend into October while chrysanthemum's rule the kingdom of flowers. The amaryllis thought dead has re-sprouted and grows tall towards Christmas. Kyle and I sip coffee on the couch and talk about the ecosystem of houseplants. Life has softened and none of it can be translated backwards. My heart is no longer a wrecking ball. I lie face down in my bed, kissing myself into the end of days. Blue jays forget to wake me and I haven't seen a robin in weeks.

Love, bring more wood in from the shed. It's that time of year.