Sweeping the dust from under the eaves
the 4am Autumn cold bequeaths the old,
to the outside wind that passes,
not without mirth does it move the uncomfortable leaves.
The comfort of dogs we have,
their life, alive to the wagging air.
How unlike one another we are.
Falling sometimes, like water, in different colours,
holy autumnal shower across a shared palette of splashing and spitting,
or an avalanche of stones;
driving us home to where we live now,
among the brushes and the paint and the paper of dust on our feet.
Our tread
the infinite patience of years,
chiaroscuro,
air of our future.
You will assemble and reassemble never tiring of a new idea,
always looking for ways,
through the mystic maze,
dog days.
Long ago,
a committal
our selves
one to the other;
One inside eachother.
Onside.
Inside.
Outside.
All sides we were.
Confronted and confounded,
always by love did we love;
spurred by age or timelove.
Love
that seemed to make it right
we thought might put on its eyes
learn to despise
as all lovers are apt to do
The intensity of you
brings even the best to its knees.
Since we grew up,
we learned to skirt the differences,
to wonder
when moon eclipses light
what light in the night it is
that early leaves the sky so soon.
Gives way,
to fight or flight.
As much as the years undo they are undone.
Gaze, with tender yearning,
towards the light of the sun.
Where,
across the shadows of one another’s eyes
the moon glitters and gazes back
lifts her skirt to the sun as we cross the darkening skies.