Author: Kel

not the light mist that conjures rainbows

not the dancing shower that spaces the drops

but the hard rain that buckets from gray clouds

so that a creek flows over your boots in the street

the wind gusts water through any attempted cover

you arrive home clothes heavy with water

hair wetted to your head glasses useless from fog and smear

then there are these

a gardener rejoicing over his drenched hay

hay that is filled with thirsty seeds

a new owner’s excitement over his pizza

with imported flour, cheese, and imaginative flair

the glances on the sidewalk between hurrying strangers

momentarily connected by sodden condition

my several mishaps have been greatly outweighed

I was happy in the rain

broken sodden things, these leaves

discarded dreams of what might have been

sunsets we failed to see because we did not look

another chance given in red and gold debris

still we must choose to see

else walk heedlessly as in the midday heat

taking for granted the moment offered

a season so brief, this pause before winter

a caesura if at all

a bird perched on a limb seeks to attract

with gaudy-hued feathers and bright orange beak

taking wing after a quick scold with beady-eyed glance

look at me look at me look at me

his showy antics and plumage implore

but my attention is caught

by one wild strawberry so red it cannot hide

though it tries, self-effacing and humble

alone on the the embankment sloping to the road

a statue in the overgrown yard

hard blank eyes staring into the trees

wind-blown leaves drifting like easy lies

fallen arm half-buried by the plinth

rough at the break but hand intact

ants crawling over the fist still clenched to hit

once monumental now barely noticed

time relentlessly consequential

savaging statues and makers alike

on the train through the mountains, I leaned my head

to watch the window fill with autumn color

blue grays of rocky outcrops and infinitely variable skies

greens browns and brilliant golds of turning trees

but what caught my attention most and snagged into my heart

an unwitting hook that would bring me back

were slender fiery-hued leaves, living tongues of flame

they burned like words I would one day remember

finally I speak them because I am home

I see these leaves now in the fields where I walk

hooks no more, but warm familiar friends

hidden testament to mortality

this rock sitting beneath the trees

no writing upon its face

it marks unknown dead

all grief has passed

gone deep into the ground

nothing left but a silent witness

and a few who give nod at the sight

the night I walk away

bones will drop as I go

brittle broken fractured things

yellowed by relentless age

these will never dance

nor will they rise

detritus from a discarded life

throw them to the midden

or let them litter where they lie

a final marker of where I tread