October dusk

This entry is part 21 of 37 in the series Bridge to Nowhere: poems at mid-life


What do you mean
by knife, by wind?
The bluest sky below the wash
of sunset pink, delectable
as a slice of blue fruit riding
the horizon’s blade.
Half a moon over the barn.
The field of goldenrod fuzz
gathering its sparrows, brown
into brown, poor Sam Peabody
as lamentable as ever:
a song that catches in the middle
like a shirt on a thorn.
The wind dying,
& the color in the trees
darkening like dried blood.

Series Navigation← InitiationGoodnight moon →

8 Replies to “October dusk”

  1. Dave this is breath-taking – been reading it 5 times and every time another line catches my attention before it melts into a smooth and honest october feeling..wow!

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