Fall is a cold wet curtain,
coming down on us
as a mother at dusk
urges in her children
before they are ready.
We sit behind
a startling discovery –
questions in our own
writing on the walls.
From a time when we drummed and jotted
big things in small pictures.
When the ink moved
our hand over dark those surfaces.
And flames flickered in
a thin glow of remembrance.
May we be encouraged to read
and to study once more
And to begin again with questions –
Of what nature is this return?
Of what changes within?
Of what remains?
What do we fall back to exactly?
What choices?
We’re going for a ride now
negotiation can’t change.
We’ll be taken down
This dark hole once more.
What jags and snags we bump upon?
What threats to be real?
What patterns we have seen?
What habits and what fears?
Is this something beyond
we can descend upon?
A deeper place.
Where’s this bottom?
Where will we go for warmth when warmth is needed?
