october

i strain to hear your music.

it  is distant but comes to me

in a language i can understand,

then folds into golden Sanskrit,

a graceful Arabic swoop

or  the Russian Cyrillic  i  once

almost learned.  it is

the unknown brushing softly

 against the nape

of my neck,  the pounding

of the monsoons  across the

rounded curve of earth before

hills cave in and plunge into

thick black mud.  once it was just

me and my dun pony, my  bare

legs pressing its ribcage,  and the

villagers who had never  before seen

a surface so milky and unprotected.

in my dreams i have been everywhere.

yet the planet still holds its secrets,

its dark wet clouds that open their wings.
they gather me up, offer me 

shelter.

-