October is pregnant with November owls, smells of holidays
Wreathing round tables, windows.
No stairs.
First stories are ten feet high, with water marks, loose tin,
Loose memories of
No stairs.
Last year's October, barren. Tears miscarried, dreams in
Beer bottles; toys, clothes, food begged by
Fire stations. No ice.
No stairs.
Christmas of words, Thanksgiving of doctors.
Halloween strutted real...mad dancing, skulls worn
And uncovered. No treats.
No stairs.
Were you proof-reading the Ten commandments,
Knowing water never goes to Heaven?
On that sunset lake were shadows of someone
Stumbling.
Too many stairs.
You were always right, but not always on time.
You took from Heaven.
You would not give.
Too many stairs
Got in the way.