Autumnal Slap

*

Leaves fall

cathedral, oblique.

Did I just imagine 

it all. And now

the bark falls

off the sycamore 

like the flesh 

off my bones.

My pastoral static

cryptic in the pyramids 

of oak, ash and thorn,

the low weeping 

tentacles, electric,
methuselah. 

*

You folded your arms

like a mummy

and in 11 words

my silent ferris wheel 

           eyes 

hung darkful over oceans.

Autumnal Coming

Leaves
begin to fall.

The deer
have returned

to the light
from the canopy.

Two squirrels
spiral up a poplar.

A spiderweb
and the branch of an oak

come together
as a dream catcher.

This is communion.