Fall is a cold wet curtain,
coming down on us
as a mother at dusk
urges her children in
before they’re ready.
We sit behind
a startling discovery –
questions in our own
writing on the walls.
From a time we drummed and jotted
big things in small pictures.
When the ink moved
our hand over dark surfaces.
And flames flickered
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 on exactly?
What choices?
We’re going for a ride now
negotiation can’t change it.
We’ll be taken down
This dark hole once more.
What jags and snags may we bump upon?
What threatens to become too real?
What patterns we have seen?
What habits and what fears?
Is this something beyond
we can descend upon?
A deeper place.
Where is the bottom this time?
And where will we go for warmth when warmth is needed?
