With every breath, with every beat of dark red blood
I am more and more in sync with autumn’s journal
Clinging
then
Surrendering
then
Falling
then
Dancing
then
Encircling
then
Gathering
then
Dying
Making way for some new thing not yet even formed
Some new thing not much more than a thought
Yet a thought that is both assured and ripe
Even if my own eyes never see it
Or my own blood possess it
Peace
Copyright (TZampino) 2020
Image: My Own Photo – 10/24/2020