Halloween brings thoughts

of decay

and the permission to eat

chocolate.

Neringa ripples toward me

as I approach down the slope

of wet leaves.

Immediately,

I want to consumate our movement–

drink her up,

have her take

me.

Neither will do,

so I continue up the road

on this Hallow’s Eve,

sensing the transparency

of the worlds

in my bones

as the air mysteriously moves

through

me,

mocking the illusion of

separation.

With eyes no longer

drawn up

by Autumn’s fiery reds,

my gaze

sinks

to the earth–

to her rich

colors of

death.

I cross the veil to

the place and beauty

of my own

mother’s

passing

while noticing a half-dozen

trees

missing

from the banks

of the pond–

beavers,

hired

to clear my view.

Turning toward home,

I pass four trunks

huddled together,

branches wrapped around

each other’s

back,

bare–

except for lichen,

a soft, sickly green

creeping up each body,

dangling

from each limb.

On this dark day of souls

I wonder~

Does the ghost of sweet

Jesse

roam

these

hills

like me?

Oct. 31, 2009