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Autumn's Call

by Dana Geddis
Autumn has come
The dying of the world
smelling like wood-smoke

The earth fissures and opens
drawing Herself
back to Herself

In the lashing chill of dawn
the hawk cries outside my window
I smile into my pillow
and stumble to the shower

I leave my house before full light
witnessing the blush colored rosebuds
new in my garden
tender as maiden-nipples

And I worry over their blooming
in the frost
like a mother over her daughter's heart

I crunch down the dirt path to
my car
Its cool, smooth metal
reminding me of
my day

taking me far away
from the hawk and the roses

And I wonder if God feels like home
or home feels like God

For today I am fractured
like the earth
open and porous

I am flattened
under the clear glass sheet
of practicality

I want to unfurl and stretch
into the universe
but am idling in traffic

watching the hills pass slowly
like mounds of dreams
I cannot touch or know

There is a call every autumn
that sometimes I think only I can
hear

I don't know the caller
I only know the answer
in me

A longing that wafts up
through my own pores
echoing an
ancient rhythm

It is the regret
that I have forgotten myself
once again

living too much
as I do
in the light

I know I must go home

if only I could find
that place

At work the computer clicks on
its monitor illuminated
with the soft whirring of its tiny and particular
knowledge

I think about the hills
the hawk
the roses

and mostly the wafting and elusive
calling

I pray that Autumn
never forgets
to call me

To participate without knowledge,
not to know
but to dance


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