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Come October

Come October, I seem, always,

to be meeting my self again,

as if I’ve been away

or forgotten

to look up for a very

long while until

Light! Oh, light!

that honeyed, autumn light

drips a long, low nod

across the southern sky,

catches my breath

and holds it

until I return, fully, to this body,

eyes open and still

enough to see

the luminous leaves of this golden ash,

the soft–shouldered waltz of the mourning doves,

the view from these eyes, this moment.