in autumn my inner artists craft works about falling,
limbs extended in the rush of unexpected flight
and demon gravity,
who never lets me quite believe in complete transcendence —
at least, not when things like leaves and dreams still litter the ground
and break open beneath my feet.
i’ve a certain knack for inclement assumptions
when Autumn divides me so,
this tug-of-war and painful splicing between a firecracker love
for crimson and crisps, such golden things,
and an imminent hip-check by shivers and frosts
that flattens me cold and bares every tree.

so i awoke quite early on Sunday,
when the promise of a bright and cloudless October gem-day
hid just beneath the brisking air,
and i quietly took up Yoga in proactive retribution
for Winter’s upcoming smugness.
and somewhere between Warrier 2 and Downward Dog,
measuring the differences between Pyramids and Triangles
while rationing my breaths and pondering the intricacies of Balance,
i walked a shaky plank with my blistered feet and suddenly —
i found God
waiting in the silences,
drawing treasure maps beneath my skin &
focusing my rockskip thoughts.
and when, from behind my heavy lids i hear a far-off voice say
“chant ‘om'” with me
i disobeyed
and began to pray.

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