They call it the falll,
poetic phrase for harvests,
of hue, shade and growth

    
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To the fourth grade quiet kid crying on the playground:
                                                           keep crying.
Let the burning blur in your pupils reverberate your vision
envision maculas becoming galaxies of simultaneous starbursts
normalizing irises marbleized in emotional flow

Oe’r sweeping luscious hills I spy,
a mist laden and green bounty,
absorbing early morning sun gladly,
sounds from a nearby charmed,
spot that town mystique captured,
itself eccentric looping magnet,
for that now vibrant spot profuse,
and sloped surround so anxious,
to exhibit in jewel gleam style,
abundance whilst on joint parade,
that silent asset or veined amalgam,
sumptuous in its epic sheer bloom,
clover clad canvas beguiling yet,
green interspersed with soggy brambles,
and garlands galore that never peak,

Suffer sadness silently
Sinister shadowy silhouette
Mellifluous meandering madrigal 

Circles spread on the surface
   And disappear in the pool
And do it so lightly - it must
   Be starting to sprinkle.

Where are the grayish clouds
   I should see in the reflection?
Where are the tapping sounds
   And the shift in the wind?

No - my eyes are dripping tears
   I didn't see coming.
Catch them - merciful waters -
   And put them away from me.

At the passing of the shark
the dolphins cried Hark!;

cute cuttlefish sighed Gee
there will be a serener sea
to its utmost periphery!;

the dogfish barked,
so joyously!;

pink porpoises piped Whee!
excitedly,
delightedly.

But ...

Will there be as much glee
when there’s no you and me?
 

The mist clings to me as I walk,
dotting my skin with gems of cold.
To left and right
there should be peaks and plunging valleys,
but I see nothing that I cannot touch.
Upon this open mountainside
the fog has made for me a private space,
a shrine of grass and soil and stones,
things barely noticed in the sun’s harsh stare.
There is a peace, an intimacy
but this is still a cage: my eyes
are trapped within a wall of white.
At least my ears are free: I shout my name
and seconds later, hear it back.
My voice reveals the spires of rock