This entry is part 54 of 63 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2011


You’ve been here before, walked this path
under branches hung with brilliant rust

and yellow— all those moldering leaves
like torches lit for their glow, like lamps

whose wicks are dipped in tallow. For company,
only the nearby gurgle of a stream, the even

crunch of gravel. Solitude’s silver and blue
arrow streaks toward you, lodging like a piece

of ice under your skin. Fragments of salt
that lace the wind. Memory of others

come and gone, their spirits nudging you
toward wherever it is you need to be.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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5 Replies to “Walking”

  1. “Solitude’s silver and blue arrow//streaks toward you, lodging like a piece/ of ice under your skin.”

    As the weather here dives below zero and both the natural and the spiritual world burrow down into the darkest nights leading up to the solstice, this line–neatly yoking the environment and season with the emotional landscape–resonated with me. Beautiful, clear image.

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