May your dusty trip be bright
As cities brush up rising crowds;
May growing sun’s pink flush make light
The under-carriages of clouds.
The warm’s away and trees lose leaves,
Their branches sparse on charcoal lines;
A harshness stills; nostalgia grieves
As autumn’s memory declines.
With climate-changing’s mix and match,
There is no certainty to air,
No definite turn-around to catch.
Surfaces glitch. Traditions err.
Despite the dead leaves’ sprawl, I say,
Go well and journey safe today.
Winter comes again
A shrill policing siren sears my street
and scars a way for followings of cold.
The damped-down leafmould volumes in retreat
dissolve their in betweenness — shrink, controlled.
Autumn’s field-good crop of learning’s dropped.
Class clears for regimens to fall in place.
Responsibility — coursed ego stopped —
firms its limbs for icing laws to pace.
Though forecasts hit and miss, we know the deal:
celestial seasons govern in our hearts;
that mankind’s striving can’t preempt what’s real,
displaying clear that we are only parts;
that cosmic laws will guide our human strife
and Wisdom’s guardians police Earth’s life.