I'm fairly certain that my part of Heaven
will be perpetually November.
I find myself driving the morning roads
through pockets of mist and streams of light,
the radiant leaves glowing, the coating dew shimmering,
my eyes drinking in each vista
like a fawn too long away from its Mother.
I hold those long shadows and vibrant contrasts
in my soul all year long.
If I could, I would abandon shelter
to live among the foggy byways,
immersed in the beauty of my month
until the last leaf had fallen.
I would soak up every drop,
every ray of light,
every twirling leaf,
and keep it in my heart-jar
to open and dive into
at any necessary moment thereafter.