October’s Waltz.  Poem.

​In pre-dawn still

The wind comes once every

Three minutes, bellowing deep in the trees

Slow, picks up speed, then stops.

dark ghost train

winds down, swapping arrivers for


Whose gossamer trench coating shuffle wet

Leaves adhere, our front window stained

chapel glass between worlds. Warm and dry, tamed storming, unpredictable rowdy

Timetables of bluster and agenda, measures of syncopated nature, the ruthless spiced tempo of October’s waltz toward winter.

DJD 10.3.15

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