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 departers 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 … Continue reading October’s Waltz.  Poem.