Toward Overture

The revealing collapse of beech leaves,

another thousand versions of yellow

wobbling sunny rain, unhindered sky,

a time when thought is free to secede

from litany and slide with the months'

diminishments, carry on with clear oxygen,

channel breath through raw elements

like flames of fire for currents of water, 

wind within moments, proposal of words

full as the life from where they arrived

to deepen a privacy that ages into home,

a story where each ending is beginning--

any memory echoed through the hand 

when held to the stars cupping initiation

of cold nothingness can grip a light 

down on through the plexus ground