I step outside

just in time, Father

for the leaf to fall from the tree

and the air is much too nipping, and biting,
and apple-pie
for me to hide from it

please, tell me a story,
all about it
about how the world ends and Your foot goes a

"stomp!"

over on the olive mount

and no more doors ever close like
sesame
sesame
sesame
ses—

I go along with things
just as if they are meant to be

and when autumn's chill catches
I hope to have You sewn onto my sleeve

not that I'd ask You to shrink for me
though I know that You would dare to do so,
and have
and prob'ly will again

and I can walk the earth like You
with intention in my feet and it will be so

meant
to
be

when the sun is just an augur
I hope to be sewn onto Your sleeve

and I can drop and fall like an autumn leaf,
and spring up again in the next wind You breathe

You bend down to hear
a calm in the torrential,
praying me a good prayer
unproved to me yet, but I know it

it's inclemence and drafty doors
and hot cinnamon in apple-pie

And on this sluggard
mattress find me

slipping
from a cast
of frazzled intrigues...

A continental tiredness
has undermined
all frequency,
alleviated
monologues

and more...

Gone
overboard,
abating, freighting
ingots by the pocketful

To soothing leagues
of mazarine,

I

dolphin

down

invisible




While
off the prow
of Longships Road,

the morning wades in tall

A nascent scent of wet light glares,
cetacean skinned.

Invincible.

Somewhere along the way
poems became status updates.

But maybe that's not quite right,
they invited us to write
and...
We convinced ourselves
that it was worth it.

Just for the likes.

I
kept
dead flowers
in a vase

they
reminded me
of you