In the Air

Come Fall.
Come now.
Shed your leaves, lengthen our nights.
Bring us wonder-filled winds, red votives,
novels of nostalgia and harvest wreaths.

Make us remember the beauty of death,
how the chorus of colors illuminating change
promise deep breaths, tomorrows renewal,
a holy shedding of cosmic skin.

Tell us your secrets Fall
and tell them loud,
with inaugurating rain drops that saturate
dry ground, puffy clouds on pink sky-lines
that rest gently on ocean's blue lap.
Let our listening be long, our prayers
smoky and silent.

Help us get it.
Spinning leaves, browns, yellows, greens and orange,
dance in dim lights, effortlessly, entirely,
whispering only when they touch down,
generously surrendering one after the other, creating a
patchwork quilt-like pavement--different on each lawn,
each block, each neighborhood, each town.

Help us get it:
there are processes of letting go, so beautiful, so rhythmic,
so right that no picture or text message can capture them.