not the chariot, or the escaping fire of our port

burning books and naming the dead after various chores of avoidable regret –
constructs of elk in soft portions are drinking in heaven’s spas and toasting to hell,
like Labrador Sundays on the ocean’s lawn impact on nicotine whales and krill
where the dominant factor of love’s aging glory is in the power-smithing
of one for another, one the last, into an enviable position of a harp’s kissing,
smiling defense of October weights, weather-cycling like a vast, elder’s sold tret –

dancing aphorisms lactate like fenced-in orchids in the steel-wind defeat of a report
modeled sulfur-October like a May-blossom bride of crying hands upon hands on retreat
from the counterrevolutionary argument that light steals the open window’s gaze,
stocious ferns mock the second stamps like a hydric-shrub tossed upon neighborly brae,
will of might mass-produced camper van trials for blister-seething outreaching second souls,
pageant regiment’s peaked first tour with encompassing spirit, but conviction cannot stay so

nor can compromised “angels” stay forever if the moment gives its due with false-wonder, relapse,
or journeys of acclimated witnesses no one can dine with, or see, or present arguments here past,
just a tree in the wilderness making its domain among the fallen leaves and a European Robin’s
habitat like a smoked Sunday pipe, fostered in fossa metre, where dogs bark at the rain, sobbing
in defiance of swiped fruit and olives like a caster of wedding bands sold to incongruent dams
and shallow wishing wells for sanctified bills of passageways like trailway lights’s lying stance

pasture chords with returning rhythms in the seasons of lofty overt victuals and not enough scattered
sugar in the sound of her planks, contemporarily, like a creature that has come into my station
for shelter and safety and did not mind meeting me, fulguration in distant cadence agroforestry,
condemned rights where songs go to live in small boxes until it is safe, cordial and lovely,
witnesses of history masking visual reception in the offense, we find the tussling of our gregarious
approach, not the chariot, or escaping fire of our port, to be the reason autumn moves apart from us