After the flurry

My writing seems slowed

After the flurry of the past weeks

The coolness in the air tempers it.

 

The clusters of maple seeds

Are clumped high in the maples

Waiting the rains and Pacific winds

To push them from summer branches

 

A swirling and twirling dance

As they spiral toward the ground

The days are becoming cooler

 

Shorter and the darkness earlier

My blood seems to be thickening

No longer thrumming with the

Heat of the summer sun

 

Thoughts once quickened

Want to slumber into the coolness

Of autumn and on into winter

 

My head filled with languid images

Of cool rivers over hot rocks

The runoff of glaciers from

Grey mountains in the distance

 

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Tell the beads

Circuit riding the Oort’s

ministering the ghosts and specters,

lost and wandering the starry æther

looking for misplaced and forgotten souls,

corporeal bodies languishing.

I find the old Dutchman and his crew,

him on his knees shooting knuckle~bones

with the devil while behind his back clenched

in his fist, fingers crossed, his rosary dangles.

I pace the ecliptic reciting, singing

matins, sext and vespers.

Tolling the hours of days

telling the beads and knots.

Penance rides, nay slips my fingers

soon will come compline.