WHETHER WE ARE BOUND TO RISE

Autumn:

the yellowing
and desiccation–
green, brilliant leaves
ignite our sight
and fade,

but,
they brightly start
to glow–
in their short-lived, red-gold clothes,
to woody branches fiercely clinging–

just like fire,
as they get on their way
to leave,
to let branch and trunk
do needed shrink
to still, restoring hibernation,

and so let go of summer. . .

high noon
skidding southward,
to light
our sister hemisphere,
while dimming us
to stretch
the night
and twinkle
stars
quite bright and clear–

much hope lopes out. . .

as the parching,
years-long drought
can leave us
thirsty, moody, in despair–

sitting in the too-still air
too grayed, disjoint, detached
to feel that twinge of desperation,

hovering o’er
but not yet hitting
the utmost dark nadir
of our aging, ending year,
still a little short
of slowing to its cold rock bottom–

so much memory–
thoughts, images
emerging
fuzzed or clear–
inside, outside–
everywhere!–

rushing in by hundreds, tens
falling in
to crowd our minds,

from the most looming of all seasons
where we can see
the spirit world,
peering slyly
through our earthy world’s
solidity,

cast in slant and flat sunlight
seen sharply through
the oblique lens
of autumn-tide–

but so far,
we aren’t
quite yet seeing,
once we fully fall,
whether we are bound,
come spring,
to rise again.

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This entry was posted in Autumn, Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Seasons, Spring, Summer and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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