// Here’s a thank-God-it’s-fall poem for all you melancholics out there. Much (heavy-hearted) love. //


It’s said the Glory of the LORD
will be like noontime, heaven
filled with unending light,
no darkness nor any dark
corner to be found. God
I hope not. I live in the lee
of things. I love mountains’
dark hint at dusk, soft shadow
lingering beneath breast, the squint
through mist at sunset, far off.

God, it’s said, created all
things—mushroom, nightshade,
mole and great horned owl,
wolf pack under full moon, midnight,
crying child, wind in oak leaves,
whiskey and campfire coals
dying, a warm hand curled
against me in sleep, stars—
formed in the void of thought
and called each and every good.

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