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Autumn's Callby Dana GeddisThe 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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