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Daniel Thompson

OCTOBER POEM
as formatted by Christopher Franke

Through the skin
of night, to the bone
of the naked heart,
the wind's a river
for the forest of women
standing by the water
their hair, glorious
in the air, diamonds***
stars, pools of light,
leaf fall, electric hum,
the weight of the world
stacked, bound, waiting
for the newspaper shoulders.
The approaching headlights, wet grass,
tree-lawn snake branch, the way
the way curves, the hand
caressing the moment, silence
like a sky, the streets
paved with the gold of autumn,
fallen heaven's alchemy .
Cat crawl, insect bite,
skunk smell, the dense
presense of houses
where your friend's
no longer living,
where your friend's
no longer dying,
you pass by, step over
the sidewalk's web.
The floating room
coughs in the dark.
The deaf child sleeping,
only in your ear
the cricket song.
Homeward the shadows move,
your dog shadowing you.
The shadow of death remembered,
again the words come, repeat
the crime, the cry, the ubiquity of love,
rainwater in a bowl, silver tears
on a golden leaf.

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