Into the Book


I started this poem trying to capture fall, and thinking about how it mirrors spring for a little while before winter begins to come. Life is full of ups and downs, and sometimes it seems like I get stuck in the mileage: things are going well, and there are many windows in the world, but the big picture–the explosion of spring–hasn’t fully arrived in the present. In short, it is trying to notice the moments and echoes among the everyday, and remind myself that the daily running counts.

gold went spiraling down//like leaves and laughter from clouds and branch//watch the mist split and fall//drenching your eyes and old skin//youth isn’t bliss and fair//but joy that echoes//it runs up into the mountains//chasing the light that bounces off the stones

the gold went spiraling around//clinging to fingertips gripped as they run down the mountain//and the words were living//brighter than explosions in the sky//and there are a hundred years of laughter buried in those eyes//the sea adrift beneath a sky and a swirl of dandelion fire//blues and melted gold-green that haunt shades of Truth

wakefulness-is-coming-accentand all those melodies play like strings//warm metal, strung and sounded with clever hands, clever minds//and the singing is like the mist, the rain that pours, and the stars blazing//it fills the room and it pulls at the souls

who doesn’t want to be loved well//and hear the old story again?//who can stand still at the sounds of homesickness//like pealing bells and thundering airplanes?//we aren’t there yet//we aren’t Home//but there are gold leaves//rippling before the winter and spring, age upon age//gold leaves that live and die but fill the world//with crashing leaf piles and giggling children//your name and my name and all the souls we know//they have names in blazing amber cursive

and we’re all waiting for that golden empire//castles in the sky out of glass like sunsets afire//we wait for the brave and the light to come back and wake us up fully//we wait for homework to be no more//yes, notebook paper fills the air//but the autumns keep coming//the bright before cold and green//we aren’t Home, but we don’t tread utterly forsaken earth//so hold on, remember this day//youth isn’t bliss and forgetfulness//but assurance that wakefulness is coming//wakefulness is coming//it shall rise like the dawn and the mist will finally glitter as it burns away//our names will not wither when they are truly spoken//and the Son looks us in the face.


Published on 21 September, 2015. Last updated on

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