Fall

Last summer storm.

A cicada’s singing fades

leaving no trace.

My neighbor is

burning leaves again.

Autumn fires.  

The coyote saw you 

on the highway tonight.

His eyes like fires.  

To make a fire for all out there in all that dark and all that cold and though it may be impossible for all to get to that fire, or impossible for us to make one large enough for all, or impossible it seems to even make anything but just a flicker, really we are all that fire and all are like coals scattered from that fire, and so we are all lighting our own little ones and in that lighting coming together.