Contemplating an Afternoon Nap, November

The grasses are honey
and swaying liquid light
where the swamp chirped and croaked
last summer, fire flies twinkling
and flirting with the night.

The bones of these slender bodies
chatter in the breezes now,
barely able to speak
except to balance between the whisper
of November shivering
and the howl
when the darkest blizzard
is yet to come.

I huddle with my strong tea
while the ocean of honest autumn
laps at the shore of my consciousness
and begs me to close my eyes for a few moments.

It is enough to rest
while the afternoon
gulps and rushes off,
slamming the door
before another day escapes.

Time Change

The darkness comes early again
and the stars are neon signs
along the galactic highway

engine brakes sputter
and shake my frame,

like stopping at the bottom
of this hill

really matters.

The words of the priest this morning
reminded me that I am worthy
when I am at my worst--

that my hunger, poverty, and tears
are enough to change nothing
into something almost
as easily
as turning
back

time.