Walk through the twilight street toward Halloween.
Through twilight light. The starlight, everywhere
the same – its Einstein-constancy the measure
of a cosmic farmhouse (flame-bright, keen).
A pumpkin-light, a lantern glance, hearth-warm.
Tall Pumpkin Man ambles our twilight streets,
a node of light, a hill of flickering; fond Chartres
rose, Blanche Ochre-Russe, on lightweight arm
the two together make a heartfelt form (dim
shades like folded flying buttresses, tucked
wings) – flame-orange origami-construct, or
Romany barge ('mid scalloped shallop-swarm)
bound for candled Jordan-pond (familiar
constellation... nuptial night, or Jubilee).
& these are magic lantern slides of you
& me, merely (children, draw nigh...) –
from the crown of the brow to the feet
of each soul, Everywoman and Man a temple
of God, whispers Holy Church, murmurs simple
Maggie – each one an End of History, complete
node of correlating beams of light (& the
centuries surround me with fire, the soldier
sighed – hum-drum pebble on the shore).
As masqueraders cluster by the wooden
garden gate, creaking in soft reply (upon
its well-worn hinge) to the muttering wind
I am the door of the sheep, at river's end
the lifeboat gently bumps its moorèd crown.