OCTOBERFEST
The maples are jars of cherry-orange
Marmalade. I eat them with my eyes
And then the peach and crimson dahlias
Flaring between cranberry candles
In my sunlighted kitchen pass-through..
The month of great expectations is not
June or January but October, the season
When all things still are possible in the school year
For teachers and for students. That
Was the month I wanted for my wedding.
The torches of trees set my spirits on fire,
Reflected in our pond or spread across
The Appalachians like Indian beadwork
Shadowed by southbound Canada geese.
Someday I’ll make a fall journey to Japan.
Sitting in stillness at the sea of sand
And stone I’ll empty my inward space
And take into myself the plum red
Gold embroidered hills of Kyoto.
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