in the shadow of autumn,
calming, and cooling —
finding yourself by stopping,
coming to be by ceasing.
the mill stopped running:
it’s boarded up, deserted.
my uncles worked there,
with calloused hands that still threw
footballs with us on weekends.
ten of us playing
out in the old empty field
in sight of the mill;
many falls spun by, and both
we and the mill stopped running.
she was fresh air, and I the earth;
she was the sky, and I the sea —
every last second, joy to birth,
every found moment, ecstasy.
weightless and blue, without any heft,
no promise, no vow, and no guarantee —
then she was gone, and I was left
with earth in my heart, and my eyes