Song for autumn

Arnold Böcklin - Das Irrlicht -1882

Arnold Böcklin – Das Irrlicht -1882

A piece of fuzz in the air,
a seed-bloom, a soul,
leading me to uplit trees,
quiet hillsides, hidden peaks.

A voice, a dream, a memory,
the sunset in autumn
and softening light:

Who can pretend the angle
doesn’t affect us,
doesn’t tug at the tides inside
and lure us under,
promising there’ll be warmth
down there.

The dark closes over, the lid:

We spin and descend,
wake dew-eyed, confused,
blink back at the mirror,
half-looking, half-remembering
dreams, premonitions,
commitments, dates…

Your life is seasons too,
told through squares on calendars,
forgotten in piles and swept up
dead things once grown
on trees,

a seed-bloom, a soul,
by will of the wisp.

About pinklightsabre

William Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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