Unfolding

All weekend I felt like fall.

I counted the moons and tides
and the lines of my own mapped body.

Today I feel like lapis
washed  soft and smooth
with veins of pyrite sparkling.

I am timeless and nameless,
in tune for this very moment
with the energy of all life.

This very well may be my fall.

In spring I was drunk on the green vine,
shatter proofed.
In the summer I was lustful and lazy
in the damp humidity of creation.

A praying mantis dead and broken on my door step,

the color of green-grey bark,
is placed on my mantle
along with the birds’ nest,
long empty,
and the remnants of lilies and a gum tree barb.

I see differently now.

There are stories unfolding.
Leaves fall like pages turning.