Even in the Dark

Two firsts – blog post AND the book.


Even in the Dark

the leaves are still

falling – it’s a steady smattering now –
dark on dark they

drop through moony shadows
and into crisp, earth-smelling banks:

[meanwhile, we sleep,
turning like planets in the strangeness of

deep dreaming] –
still, the leaves carpet field, roads

and the quiet floor of the woods;
they fill the lengthening night,

whispering of things fallen
and falling, of what sighs

and subsides, of what bides its time,
breathing slow into the long cold of winter,

all in calm readiness for the onset
of small things –

say, a chink of pale light,
the shift and slip of change.

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