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.
D. J. Dawson 10.3.15 (c)