Even this autumn seems to be our last so bombastic so gorgeous every day I exclaim –it is so fing beautiful ,so good so amazing–the wind she talks now crisp and clear bringing all the shawomyn to the table, husking corn, bringing gossip, yelling recipes –she says she is a death doula …wow never have I heard it faced so gallantly

Peace love these are heavy today bending my throat back touching my heart holding the wisp of his spirit …so many wonder these days about the theys laughing at the queer abstractions when all I see is flesh and blood

Just folk with ancestors deep as mine hunting gathering warriors we all are fitting in somehow this jenga of a conversation this jenga of a life

Miracles happen the salmon still run pink and she comes to me like an apostle on bended knee-maybe the only way forward is this collective buzz , the horde of knowing –only prayers are left

It seems urgent these days Every glance furtive

Every gesture meant I know she loves me her eyes soften in my peripheral vision it is enough to know some friends are gathering garnets , some are caring for mothers, husbands and lovers and some are like me hunting and pecking among these letters finding joy in knowing you-I see you hold space among our bonfire not of vanities but of life lived ,love held, sickness endured and joy peaking thru those damn curtains every morning as I hold another moment like garnet chips under a huge opening sky