besieged by the turmoil of autumn
constellations of snowberries
hung for winter
a few renegade blackberries
still blooming
brownish moonscape of mushroom
gills as cold as trout
the lonely creak of chickadees
against the silence of the migrants
i tumble in the landscape
like a leaf in a tinkling stream
until i descend into the shore of the sound
profoundly hazy, still:
it is almost too much.
i touch the water to my forehead.
it is cold and pure as a stream—
that tinkling stream
*Copyright 2010 by Luther Allen. This poem appears in The View from Lummi Island.
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