The summer slipped away again, washed away in heavy rain, turning itself over to a burnt October The pear trees slowly slumped beneath the balmy weight of southern sky and finally they bore their swollen fruit Now the mild autumn days roll by calmly, slow as summer thunder. This house is very quiet. Outside the world keeps blooming into auburn color, flooding through the kitchen windows where I am baking bread or reading novels Even the bees drift lazily among the fallen pears fermenting in the sun. I watch them start to fly then float back down to the sugar-bruised fruit Surely nothing is more silent than steam escaping hot bread broken alone, than black tea going cold.
I’m told this is a paradise
of snow and sea and starlight.
The mountains burst out from the loam
then tumble to the charcoal water
like a silent white explosion,
splitting through the citrus sky.
But its sound is swallowed in the vastness
like a whisper or a violent kiss.
I’ve heard there’s beauty in the bareness,
in the sparkling glacial graves.
The sun melts across the hills like nectar,
as dusk starts seeping through the trees.
But something holds me by the water,
underneath the lights in the sky that are stars,
stuck between fearing cataclysm
and wishing for it. Working towards it.