before

life is perfect
on the brink of war
when there are choices
soon, never more

not autumnal equinox
not another child
not wind or wink
to see or feel

tonight is the night
when all folding
could be completed

even people
who don't believe
see the logic of deity
and its folly

the first day of falling
ripe apples and warm
crisp
fresh
fry cakes in a cider mill
at southeastern
lower Michigan

the things extracted from
corpses are amazing

their memory and grit
the fortitude and spit
all fluids drained
but still, the passive felt
and need remains in
a coveted hovering