Dispatch #33

Prayer Beads

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Many blessings—

Joseph

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Prayer Beads

A dream
disintegrates
into a room—

my body
made of
light.

*

I don’t notice
until I’m surrounded,

my senses seized
by the season.

Leaf-tides
sidewind
asphalt;

color clots
sewer grates.

*

The flare
and the fire
bright before
dying—

November’s
quick
turn
inward

turns
the mind
inside-out.

*

Freezing air
cuts through
closed windows,
encapsulating pain.

The poem glows
unwritten
in the center of
the room.

*

An inner-silence
blots out nostalgia.

What was left
unspent
in autumn
withers
under ice.

Now the new life;
the holy order

of dawn breaking.