wesley chapel

like so many leaves scattered,
tattered before the ashy day’s end

I find myself caught up in the wind’s

whispered sigh, pushing solidly at my

back….accelerating me and I imagine

 

that small space occupied by your hand.

Not anxious, not getting me out of the way….

instead moving with me as I sway in fiery

reds and yellows and crispy browns ~

a small stand of myself along a cemetery’s edge?

An odd meeting place for lovers without secrets…

hedging bets on dreams never dying…

and I’m caught up in the lacy folds of fence,

the white’s kept in and coloreds sleeping outside

in wiry waiting woods….all tangled,

haunted by neglect yet somehow

freer than their kept counterparts…

with families and a duty during holidays.

we skip stones and generations skip departed

like so many leaves scattered

tattered before the ashy day’s end,
finding ourselves...

11/2009