How to sum the Sundays–
so green in southern alps–
now steeped in honey, wine.
Russet rustles through the piles,
then I remember rain, sodden, blind.
So different summer thunder
from fall’s dark glower.
I try to stitch red blossoms
to the spellbound maples
but my work shreds, tatters,
Running clumsily off the sheer cliff,
caught by the great sail just as I leap,
my heart recalls my pilot father’s joy
landing orgasmic on darkened ship.
Calm now, I watch from heights
the earth turning heavily in sleep,
extending gravitic arms to pull me in,
cosset me in dreams of space.
And you below me do not know,
do not yet feel the sting of sleet,
nor see that seasons come, colors go
and all is change and tidal flow.
Safe in your houses, buried deep,
the unfelt waves sweep over you
that bring untamed tomorrow.