Wednesday, September 08, 2010

The small scrapes we survive

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Autumn Now


There is time in the wind. The passing of it; the gathering.
Limbs bend and creak and the trees do so as well. A dove
coos alone on a branch, the whole sea torn blue behind her.

Whitecaps and clouds use the sky as a mirror. Water and
salt do what they’ve always done. Before gods were given
life; before caves held their pigmented animal stories.

I’m a little ahead of myself, but the season has already
arrived. Stand up right now and look for yourself. The
light has shifted and the shadows retooled. This will go

on toward winter this way; longer, more angled, shorter,
more carved into the small scrapes we survive to see it
unfold. Listen and you may sense something outside your

senses. Chant and the sun may turn toward you to seize
an eye, burn its name into your skin as a way to remember.
It is autumn now and that is simply how things are.

Joseph Gallo
September 8, 2010


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