I walk through a neighborhood
I've lived by all my life and never have seen
Low sun kissing autumn leaves
the birds gaze at me overhead
As I go from house to house: no one home
All the political rhetoric, my own visions
of the future, fade as the strong
silence speaks of so many astonishingly different
lives, congregations, bubbles of authentic existence
I check another NH box, and my communist dreams shudder
I'm beginning to understand this
notion of small government, I feel
wild individualism growing like a rash
around me, smug and complacent
"Good fences make good neighbors" smiling contentedly at me
Government is now such a tiny fragment of these peoples', anyone's, life
Me, a solicitor -- a trespasser --
wading through the peace of sunset
And it's so sad; even for a romance, these days,
its health requires some rugged independence
I get home and run for my lonely, lonely life

Fall Fetching

The scene dimmed
 with a gentle rush of wind
 as the leaves fell into the stream
The dreamlike matte blurring of the surface
 as the sunken leaves glowed like gems
All the while, soft droplets innocently danced
 with their distinctive expansion everywhere
Followed by heavier drops, deeper, not intrusive
 — on another level, ringing out —
And the kersplash and the wake of my dog
 causing huge ripples, yet still harmonious
 with all the beautiful blustery co–action
Wispy winds brush over the water
 with their own tickling touch
The wind and a pleasant rain
 come up from behind me, pushing me towards
 the vast coverage of webs of undulations
 all clearly distinct, all meshing together
in a beautiful, delicious, mystifying
 fall day of fetch