The Hiss of Fall

The sussurus of fall slides

through treetops’ shushing

answer to the distant stars

The twinkle static radio

of new beginnings’ endings

and the start of things

Not yet begun

A white sound spun from

A swinging earth

that rocks her children

With indifference

And grace

Come sit here

On woven bricks

We’ll march the chairs

Across the porch

And watch the past pass

Slowly quick, eyes dull

Like crepe and slow as 

paper planes

Look down high up

And count the days

We rock and wait in 

Heaven’s bell

Clap your hands and

Raise your voice

It won*t be long ‘til

Silence rings.