You stand at the doorway
in your motley coat of rust and gold and blue
You stand at the doorway
almost smiling at the semitones dancing
on the wind
You wait, and you wonder
There at the doorway
What do you offer?
A hollow thanksgiving?
What do you offer?
Appolonaire’s trench war nightmares?
You look behind you where the Scorpion dwells
you look before you to the hand of the Archer
Why wait for the solstice
Why wait on the sun
Why not pray there at the door sill
that this endless year be done?
You stand at the doorway
perhaps I can see you smile
You wait upon winter
with autumn standing by
We pray with you there at the door sill
pray with ghosts & smoke & leaves
We pray with holy intention
for the healing yet to be.
3.IX.20
