Autumn solemnity (poem)

Blue jeans, sweatshirts, and book in my hand
the porch light on casting illumination on my comfort
the air is cool but the hot liquor warms me
as melancholy music whispers in my head
the coffee isn’t the only Irish thing about me

It’s a time for magic, and spirits
as my eyes dart from the page and into the yard
and long lengths of deep shadows
was that a ghost? Maybe so. Probably so.
and somehow i am okay with that
as I return to the words on the page
of a book written by Fessenden

It’s silent, save for the occasional car
and the wind passing through the trees over head
the pages in my hand as sacred as rosary beads
and my prayer to God is for the night to slow
for time to be suspended as a spider descends
on a single silk thread just to the right of me

all is equal on nights like this
no revulsion, no spite, or fear
only a mutual understanding
as the creature makes it’s way across the porch
and down into the darkness on the otherside
we are simply two beasts enjoying the starry starry night
preparing ourselves for the inevitable onset of winter