Red Music

The notes come tumbling out of
the battered accordion of fall.
A dark red music
with the bodies of leaves
littering the streets.

My hands shake
thinking of my mother
as I change 
the hurricane’s diaper.

A catalogue arrives
selling the dream
of a well-manicured life.
Organized
clean
with the patina 
of nature
displayed
in clever
and artful ways.
There are no humans 
in the photos.

Ants, bats, raccoons, spiders
cats, very bold squirrels
and fleas sneaking in
on the Trojan horse
of our geriatric poodle
have been guests in our home.

The sun continues
its pilgrimage
through the yard
only a darker yellow now
and even some orange.
I cannot remember a single day
when I have not stopped 
to read the book of time
on the light flying out
from its oceans of fire.

A barely perceived
inevitability creeps
into the news.
Didn’t I hear 
these stories 
several decades ago?

The hurricane arches
and kicks
and shits
and pounds
and eats
and eats
and eats
and screams
and giggles
and farts
and cries
and destroys 
and eats
everything in her path.
The nature 
of the universe

Love is such a sweet destruction.

She watches everything
with eyes as deep as the ocean.
She is voracious 
and tyrannical 
in her need to explore.
She is ten times smarter
than previous generations.

I assume it will be
ten times harder to live
but already
her heart 
is so full.

My father sends photos
from our early years.
He works each day
sorting through them.
They have a square
white border 
with tiny dates 
like 7- 65
and a fog
is slowly blooming
across their 
shiny surfaces.
There is always 
an underlying
narrative to the ones
that he sends.
A man of few words
his actions
are poems of love.

He laughs with joy
on the phone 
when I describe
the hurricane’s escapades.

The four small rooms
of our house are 
torn asunder
each day.
The scattered debris 
of exhaustion 
love and chaos.
The violent 
energy of our days 
as we fall 
through the light. 

Hang on friend
as we fall
ever deeper
through the beautiful 
destruction.

.