November 6, 2011

Autumnal chill

breath brittle on my tongue

misting out over 

glasslike still

The lagoon before me

Tread forward

leaves crackling loud as

shards of old china

dusted with frost

At water's edge

I look down

Searching murky depths

for my oldest teacher

met with nothing

The truth

Distant trumpets

sound from heaven

a manic cry

geese heading south